


Till I'm Under Your Skin

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Student/Teacher, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2017-12-04 22:50:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 35,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/715974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis teaches English. The only thing Harry wants to learn is Louis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's Emilie and Kenzi, and this is a thing we're writing together because we both were stupid and thought that two chaptered fics at once would be fun. No but really we're both really excited, and we'll be switching off every other chapter. Enjoy!
> 
> Please read: Child abuse is a component of this story, however there will not be any descriptive scenes of violence, only the aftermath. Please take this into consideration, as we do not intend to trigger or disconcert anyone. Thank you!

A bell blares in Louis’ ear, and he almost screams. He writes himself another sticky note and places it on the door by the speaker. _Don’t stand near the door at the beginning or end of class_. He sighs, sips the tea in his hand, and writes himself another note after he checks the time. _Work on your handwriting god damn it_. He wearily runs a hand through his hair as he eyes the bright blue marker on the board. It reads: _Hi! I’m Mr. Tomlinson. Sit wherever you’d like._ He has a smiley face there, too. He tries to write the date as well before his homeroom students arrive, but his marker dies, and he throws it on the ground in frustration. 

A boy walks in just as it hits the floor, and Louis wants to tear his hair out, a little. He bends down to pick up his marker and toss it in the bin, and he meets his glance with the boy with soft eyes and a gentle, amused smile. 

“Sorry,” Louis says. “Erm, take a seat wherever you like.” 

“Okay,” the boy says. “Are you new? I’m Liam.” 

“Oh! Yeah, I’m Mr. Tomlinson, and I’ll be your homeroom and English teacher, presumably.” 

Liam nods, dropping his books on the desk right in front of Louis’ and says, “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I have you straight after lunch.”  

Louis is lucky that another student comes in straight after, because he wasn’t so sure what he was going to say to Liam. He’s got bright eyes and a messy head of curls and if Louis wasn’t a teacher and they were at a club, he’d be just the kind of guy Louis would pull. But he is a teacher, and this kid is his student, for fuck’s sake, so he blinks and sends him a smile because he needs to make a good impression, doesn’t he? 

He doesn’t get a smile back because his student’s eyes are scanning the board and then scowling at Liam. “For fuck’s sake, Liam, the front? Why the front?” Liam doesn’t even answer, just waits until his friend is plopped down next to him. He looks up again, and Louis is just finishing writing the date. He caps the marker and leans against the board. “Oh,” the kid murmurs. His eyes scan up and down Louis’ body, and for a moment Louis feels hot all over, but then awful, because –  _student_. “It’s because we’ve got a view.” 

“That’s not why, Harry, you twat.” 

Harry laughs, and Louis does his best to avert his eyes. “Well, I’ll be enjoying my mornings much more.” Louis glances up, and Harry winks at him. 

Louis turns and runs another hand through his hair. He watches as more students begin to flood in, and once the bell rings, he doesn’t focus on Harry’s bright eyes watching him, but instead on introducing himself to his homeroom class and using his charming and sarcastic wit to win the students over. (At least, that’s what he tells himself he’s doing. He probably looks dumb. Zayn would say he looks dumb.) But he gets a laugh out of a few of them, and Louis pointedly ignores Harry’s smirk. He takes attendance and answers the question about all of his sticky notes. “I have a fetish, I’m afraid.” He gets laughs and strange looks, and he figures that’s better than people hating him. “I’m kidding; it’s just that it’s my first day as a teacher and in this class room, so I need to leave notes around so I don’t forget. That’s one of my many bad traits, although I’m sure you’ll find the rest absolutely entrancing. I can quote poetry. That’ll win you over, won’t it?” 

He sends them off with a farewell of, “Try to enjoy your first day of school, maybe you’ll make it back to my class.” They leave with more chuckles, and he swears he hears some kid mutter, “Doubt it,” which pulls a laugh out of Louis himself. Harry’s the last to trek out, Liam just before him, and he’s got his books tucked under his arm and wide eyes that make him look innocent. 

“See you later, Mr. Tomlinson,” Harry murmurs. 

“I’ll see you after lunch, Harry.” 

Harry snaps Louis’ suspender and leaves, and Louis is not sure how long he’s standing there, but he jumps again when the bell blares in his ear, making him rub his forehead and blink a little harder, thankful that he doesn’t have a class first period. 

*** 

The rest of the day goes rather systematically. He has six classes over the course of the day, and he introduces the every one in the same way. He tells the class his name, that it’s his first year, and what they’ll be learning. Fifth period is where his day gets interesting, because Harry and Liam from his homeroom are sauntering in, taking their seats from earlier in the day, and Harry’s resting his head on his hands and looking up at Louis with bright eyes and pink lips. Louis tugs at his collar and introduces himself a little wearily, shifting with his student eyeing him like _that_ , like they’re at a bloody club and Harry’s about to suck him off in a bathroom. “Erm, as you all know from homeroom, I’m Mr. Tomlinson, and I’ll be your English teacher. This year is going to be pretty fun, I’d like to think, but I’m sorry if English bores you to tears. We’re doing a poetry unit, with Edgar Allen Poe, and Wordsworth, and – all the lot of them. It’s not as rubbish as you think, I promise. I’ll vow to meet your standards and make it as interesting as I can. We’ll be doing novels as well, _Beowulf, Frankenstein, Brave New World_ , the standards. You’ll be keeping journals as well, and I’m personally not too big on homework because I know how much of pain in the arse it is. Shit, I didn’t mean to swear.” Everyone is laughing by then, and Louis just ducks his head and mutters, “Moving on from that, shall we?” 

He sees an ocean of smiles and thinks that he’s maybe making a nice impression, so he passes out books and takes attendance and tries to stop fiddling with his fringe. He tells them that they’re starting with poetry because he knows that everyone hates that the most, so he has them write their names in the Lit books and says that he’ll have their heads if they lose them. 

It’s nearing the end of class when he grows used to the sultry eyes that Harry hasn’t taken off of him, constantly scanning him and his pretty cocksucking lips in a perpetual smirk. Louis wants to punch him and snog him at the same time. He shakes his head as he hands out the blue notebooks for his fifth period’s journals. (Every class gets a special color. Louis is working on being organized.) He gives one to Harry and their fingers brush, and Louis immediately recoils. He tries not to roll his eyes when he walks down the aisle, because he knows Harry’s eyes are on his bum. 

When the bell rings, he’s fairly relieved. He leans over his desk to scrawl on another sticky note that are already littering the surface, and he feels Harry’s presence. He looks up. “Yes, Mr. Styles?” He glances at the door and sees Liam waiting. 

“Oh, I was just wondering where you got your trousers. I’ve been wondering all period.” 

“Maybe you should focus a little more, Harry.” Harry still smirks. “But Topman, I believe. And why is that?” 

“Your arse looks really fucking great in them, so I was curious.” 

Louis gasps, doesn’t focus on his smooth skin and unruly hair. “You can’t say that, Harry.” 

“I’m fairly certain I can say whatever I want,” Harry murmurs. “It’s you who shouldn’t be hitting on the students.” 

“I can write you up,” Louis replies. 

Harry shrugs. He walks a hand up Louis’ arm, leans in close to his ear. “Yeah, but you won’t.” He snaps his suspender again and walks straight out the door. Liam isn’t there anymore. Louis breathes a sigh of relief. 

By the end of the day, he’s exhausted. When he’s walking out to his car, he sees Harry trailing behind Liam, and he tries to convince himself he doesn’t get a wink from bright green eyes with a devilish glint that makes Louis want to masturbate but throw a chair at him at the same time. 

*** 

The next two weeks go in the same sort of succession. Harry flirts with him in homeroom, he teaches his morning his classes and gets them settled into Poe’s works, Harry flirts with him after lunch, and he carries on until he’s dead tired at the end of the day. He tries to ignore it best he can, really, (although Harry _is_ rather hard to ignore, with his fluffy hair and obscene lips and constant smirk and gorgeous, teasing eyes) but he can’t say he hates the attention. He quite likes it, if he’s honest with himself, and Harry is sweet when he wants to be, but mostly a cheeky flirt who probably doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into. 

He does find him to be a good student, as well as Liam who always tries his hardest. He listens in the hallways and during class, and finds things about his students. He has nearly five Will’s throughout the course of the day, so that’s a bit confusing, but he hears that Harry is out and proud, and he’s a bit of a slag. He’ll blow boys in the bathroom, and he’ll fuck any boy that lets him. He doesn’t know whether to be impressed or disgusted. 

(He’s impressed.) 

The beginning of September flies by in a flash, all calming poetry and groaning kids – and the few who secretly enjoy it. He swears Harry is one of them – and the one, first journal entry that’s cliché as hell. He gave them two options: _What was the best part of your summer?_ or _What are you looking forward to most in the new school year?_ He lets them write it during class because he’s being adamant about the whole no homework thing, and he groans when he has to make multiple trips back and forth to his shitty car when he can’t carry all of the journals. 

He reckons he shouldn’t be surprised when he sees Harry leaning against his doorway after his first trip, but he still gasps a little when he sees him, all bright eyes with a luster to them that makes Louis squirmy. He has his knee bent and his foot propped against the doorframe, and his arms are folded across his chest. Louis sucks in a deep breath and tries to glance away, but it’s almost like there’s a pull with the way that Harry’s eyes follow him. 

Once he reaches the door he greets, “Mr. Styles.” 

Harry smirks and greets right back, “Mr. Tomlinson.” 

Louis just hums and walks right past him, picking up the next two rounds of journals and groaning when he sees he’s going to need to make another trip. He notes that Harry hasn’t moved and asks, “Can I help you with something?” 

Harry grins. “Actually, I believe that I can help you. I couldn’t help but notice the _abundance_ of journals you have to carry to your car, and I was wondering if I could give you a hand?” 

Louis smiles. “Well, Harry, that’s very kind. If you wouldn’t mind, you can just grab the last two stacks right there?” 

“Of course, Mr. Tomlinson.” 

He saunters right past Louis and lets their shoulders brush, and Louis tells himself not to stiffen. He lets Harry walk out first and locks up behind himself, tries not to smile endearingly at the way Harry has all of his books held in his both of his hands and how he has his chin tucked on top to keep them steady. 

Louis ignores the way the light makes Harry's hair all shiny when it glints when they walk outside. He heaves his notebooks a little higher and places them on the hood of his car when he goes to pop the boot again. Harry sets his load in and graciously does Louis' as well, sending him a smile that's for once more sweet and sincere than flirtatious. Louis returns it wholeheartedly, especially knowing that not many students would have offered to help in the first place.  

“Thank you, Harry. This was really sweet of you,” Louis tells him when he closes the trunk and leans against Louis' car much like he was doing in the doorway. He takes the Ray Ban sunglasses that were resting on his head and lets them sit on the bridge of his nose.  

“Of course, Mr. T. Whenever you need, a, uh, – a _hand_ , you just let me know,” Harry responds, and he grins again, dimples in full force, and Louis tells himself not to read into his words, even though he knows the message there.  

He plays dumb. "That's very kind, Harry. Ill be seeing you tomorrow?” 

“Every morning, Tommo. Have a good evening.”  

“Likewise,” Louis murmurs, and then Harry's saluting him, and he's off.  

*** 

Louis decides that he's only grading half the journals that night because he's lazy, and he's telling himself that there's only so many summer experiences that he can read about in one night. He gets through about eighty of them before collapsing on his couch and yelling at Niall to bring him more tea. He swears he hears Niall mutter something about being his slave under his breath, but Louis doesn't say anything because he reckons it's true. He drinks his tea and makes it to his bed before collapsing in a mound on the sheets, unbuttoning his shirt, and falling asleep like that.  

He's basically a wreck the next morning, so he washes up in the shower, eats his toast and drinks his tea in a haste, dripping all over the kitchen and ignoring Zayn's whining, and blow dries his hair up into a quiff because he's running late and that's not okay. He rubs his tired eyes and makes another cuppa in his to go cup before dashing to his car and just scraping by at a reasonable time for the teachers to be arriving.  

When he gets there, Harry is leaning against the door – that's locked, at that – and his eyes are closed, fingers tapping a gentle rhythm against his thigh.  

“Harry, why are you here?” Louis sighs.  

“Well aren't you so happy to see me, Mr. Tomlinson,” Harry murmurs.  

Louis rolls his eyes and digs the keys to the classroom out of his pocket and lets them both in. Louis sets his messenger bag on his chair, and Harry plops himself right down on Louis' desk. Louis rolls his eyes again.  

“And what's got your knickers in a twist, teach?” Harry asks.  

Louis doesn't even bother fighting it. “Tired,” is all he says.  

“Mmh... Anything I can do to help you out?”  

“’Fraid not,” Louis replies. He smiles halfheartedly. “But thanks, Harry.” 

“‘Course, Mr. Tomlinson." He makes to get down off of Louis’ desk when Louis is done rifling through papers and sits down in his swivel chair. “Oh, and hey,” Harry murmurs, his voice softer this time, “Keep your hair down, looks nicer like that.” His hands gently come up to Louis' hair and card through it so it rests in a messy fringe like he wore through the first day Louis met Harry. Harry smiles gently at him, and Louis wills himself not to shiver.  

The first bell rings, and Harry hops off of Louis’ desk. ‘I'll just head to my locker real quick, yeah?”  

He’s already out the door when Louis says, “Yeah, yeah, okay.” He scrubs his hands across his face and writes a sticky note and puts it on the top of his calendar that covers most of the desk. _Don’t be a stupid twat_. He tries to ignore the fact that so far none of the sticky notes’ advice have worked out. When Liam walks in, he says, “Be a doll and change the date on the board for me, would you, Liam?” 

“Sure, Mr. Tomlinson,” Liam chirps, and Louis is just thankful he doesn’t have to get up because he’s not so sure how he’s going to make it through the day tired and horny because of his seventeen-year-old student. 

*** 

Fifth period is kind of hell, a little, because Harry eyes him up and down the entire time, and Louis isn’t sure if it’s more than usual or if he’s just more aware of it because he’s horny and fully admits to Harry’s boyish attractiveness. But he reads a poem and meets eyes with the class with bright eyes and always manages to find Harry staring right back at him, attentive, but probably not to the right things. 

By the time the class is over, he’s completely exhausted and not entirely sure how he’s going to make it through the end of the day. The class clears out, and Louis is expecting it this time, but Harry is leaning against his desk when he looks up from where he’s bent over it, and there’s a hand pushing through his hair. Louis wants to push into it, but he just stands there, not stoney but definitely not pliant. 

“S’cute like this,” Harry says. “None of that quiff stuff.”  

Louis just sniffs and sits up straight. “Yeah, yeah, Harry. Get to class, okay?” 

Louis walks over toward the door. 

“Anything for you, Mr. Tomlinson,” Harry says, and then he’s brushing his fingers against Louis’ bicep, just featherlight, and he’s gone. 

*** 

Louis naps when he gets home, eats a salad that Zayn brought as leftovers from where he ate at lunch, and grades the rest of the journals in sweats and a hoodie. He’s surprised when he gets to Harry’s, reading about his summer with Liam. It’s sweet, it’s innocent, and it’s rather well written compared to several of the other ones he’s read, but he mutters, “Shit!” under his breath when he reads the next part of the page, and he has to ignore Zayn’s strange look from across the room because –  _shit_. 

The bottom of the page reads: 

_Now, I realize you said, Mr. Tomlinson, to only pick one, but I couldn’t possibly resist after a summer so lovely, but an even lovelier year to come. As for what I am looking forward to in the new school year, well, I’d have to say – all cliché’s intended – is you. God, Mr. Tomlinson, you don’t know how much I’m looking forward to this year._ (And at this point it’s completely clean, but Louis’ breath hitches so loud that he has to tell Zayn that he’s fine, thank you.) _You don’t know how much I want to choke on your cock, Mr. Tomlinson. I want to see those pretty blue eyes staring down on me while I suck you off. And maybe, it’s more of a fantasy, what I’m looking forward to. But maybe you can be my dream come true._

Louis snorts, because that was really, really, cheesy, but, but, he’s having a little trouble breathing normally and wearing a normal expression because his student wants to fucking choke on his cock. He shakes his head and writes a check plus because he’s too lazy to give actually numbers on these things, they’re just to keep the kids distracted, really, and writes a nice little smiley face because he knows it’ll make Harry smile, too. But he writes huge exclamation points and an arrow at the bottom of the page and says, _We’re going to talk about this!!!!_ Louis is not really sure what his motive is, when it comes to Harry. But at least Harry’s tactful. And tasteful. (Louis takes pride in his appeal.) He rubs his tired eyes and tugs a little bit at his fringe in frustration, and forces himself to go through the last two classes, and by the time he’s done his boner from mid-fifth period has returned, so he goes to bed and figures he’ll have a wank because he’s not shagged anyone in about six months and he’s goddamn horny. 

He shuts his door and spreads out on his covers, sweatpants at his knees and shirt rucked up, just stroking himself lightly. When he lets his eyes flutter shut, he dips his thumb in the slit and rubs back and forth because he’s pretty tired and would like to go to sleep sooner than later. He rolls his balls in his other hand, breath heavy. Bright, pretty, green eyes flash in his mind, and he gasps. He sees Harry’s pretty lips wrapped around his cock and his fingers twisted in his long, curly hair. He imagines the sounds he would make because his mind has gotten out of control, and the way he would look, sweaty and pink and lust-blown. He imagines his lips bitten and bright red. He thinks about what Harry said. About how he wants to choke on Louis’ cock. And Louis pictures it all as he pumps his shaft and rubs along his hipbone. He thinks about Harry’s smooth skin and bright gaze, and he thinks about how eager he’d be, and he thinks about the whimpers he would make and the tears that would spring at the corners of his eyes and the way he would look when Louis would come down his throat. 

Louis comes all over his fist. 

(And he might just wear his hair down tomorrow, because he likes Harry’s smile.)


	2. Chapter 2

Louis thought he had escaped the horrors of the screaming alarm clock when he’d graduated secondary, but the screeching in his ear tells him otherwise. It takes all he has not to throw the thing clear across the room. The sound of the hard plastic shattering against the wall would most certainly be a more pleasant thing to wake up to.  
  
He settles for punching the top button instead, cutting off the obscene noise and falling back into the mattress, arms still caught in his knit blanket. He feels a shiver run over his skin as he tries to snuggle into duvet and ignore the square-like numbers that read 6:01 a.m. Theres a bite of cold that he can’t shake and he rubs his legs together, trying to warm up. His sock-clad toes are searching for something to tangle up in when he realizes that all his sheets are bunched at the foot of the bed. It’s odd really, because Louis has always been a tight sleeper. Most nights he’ll tuck his legs up and curl in on himself, hardly ever tossing or turning. So he has no idea-  
  
But that’s when the realization hits him like cold water, waking him up more than an alarm ever could.  
  
He feels it in the pleasant numbness in his bones and the subtle coil in his stomach, in the way his mind can’t focus and the slow to fast pickup of his pulse. Mostly he feels it in the hard on he’s sporting in his gray sweatpants. He whips off the covers and props himself on one elbow. His eyes are wide and his heart is in his throat, murmuring a _“no, no, no-”_ as his suspicions are confirmed. Because his dick is tenting in the soft material and there’s no hiding that. There’s also no hiding the reason behind it.  
  
He’d gotten off to the idea of his student last night. He tries to fight the idea of it, as much as the guilt is welling up inside him, he knows what he’s done. He’s trying to come up with some way to explain to himself that it was a misunderstanding. Telling himself  that those dark curls don’t belong to a seventeen year old. That the pretty red mouth he’d pictured around his cock wasn’t the same one that chewed on a pencil as he eyed “Mr. Tomlinson” from the other side of his desk. But the green eyes that he’d pictured could only belong to Harry, and it’d been Harry who he’d also gone on to dream about through the night.    
  
He’s off the bed in one swift movement, feet hitting the cold floor of the flat. There are slow, quiet noises coming from the kitchen area and he remembers that it’s Thursday and Zayn has his pottery workshop downtown. He purposely makes no glance in that direction as he exits his bedroom and beelines across the living room, stepping around the couch that Niall is sprawled across, mouth open and snoring. He shuts the bathroom door tightly behind him and clenches his fist around the brass of the knob, holding his breath.  
  
When he finally steals a look at himself in the mirror he feels his body flush. His hair is a mess, sticking up at all different angles and cheeks pink. He’s not sure if the later is from sleep or from what he’d been thinking of as he drifted but one glance at himself, and he can tell that he’s wrecked. He curls his fingers around the edge of the sink and bites down on his lip, willing his erection to fade. He has no such luck, and with each second he’s remembering more of what he’d envisioned. Harry’s large hands grabbing his hips, or the thought of Harry’s breath against his ear.  
  
“Fuck-”  And he’s shedding his kit, he knows he has to do something about this, and if he doesn’t do it soon he’ll be behind schedule for the whole day. He runs the shower and steam begins to fog the mirror as he gets his socks off and tosses them aside.  
  
He tells himself it’s not Harry’s long legs he pictures twining with his, but it’s no use because it’s Harry’s name that he’s biting back as he comes into his fist.  
  
***  
  
He arrives at school exactly five minutes before the bell, making sloppy work of his parking and grabbing his things out of the backseat in a rush. He makes it through the doors and down the hallway, sliding through packs of students and narrowly avoiding one girl’s backpack as she slung it over her shoulder. By the time he unlocks his room and sets down the papers he’s juggling he has just enough time to take a drink of tea from his to-go cup before the first students are filing past him, taking their seats.  
  
He focuses on stapling the guided notes he’d compiled a few nights ago instead of letting his eyes wander to the front row of desks. He reaches for a paper clip and feels it’s sharp end prick his finger, yelping a little. The bell chimes right on cue and he sees Liam hurry in to take his place as he stuffs his mobile in his back pocket, making it through the door just  in time.  
  
Louis casts his eyes down to the attendance application that’s already queued up on his staff computer. Bending over with his hip popped out slightly, he clicks through a few pages to get to the right list and starts role.  
  
“G’morning everyone,” he remembers to greet them. “Alright let’s see... Paige Beverly?”  
  
“Here.”  
  
“Thomas Boyet?”  
  
“Here.”  
  
The list goes down alphabetically until he gets past the R’s, feeling a knot in his stomach.  
  
“Josh Shetfield?”  
  
“Here.”  
  
He presses his lips together in a thin line before asking, “Harry Styles?”  
  
He waits, still not looking up from the screen, but there’s no answer. “Harry?”  
  
“He’s not here today sir,” Liam speaks up, raising his hand a little to let Louis know it’s him talking. “Doctor’s appointment.”  
  
Louis nods curtly, thanking Liam for telling him without saying it. Perhaps he should feel relieved, glad that he doesn’t have to try and act like he still looks at Harry the same way as before. Instead the room just feels emptier. He nods before going on through the list, but none of the other names cause him to pause like the one that hadn’t answered back.  
  
***  
  
The rest of the day passes with a slow drag, his classes are doing a timed writing for most of the periods. All he has to do is sit and answer questions that a few of them ask. The minutes tick by at a tedious pace and all he wants is to be done with the day. A few students sit towards the back of the room and blow it off, with arms crossed over their desks and cheeks resting in the crook of their elbows.  
  
The sound of pencils on paper fills the room throughout each hour. He’s been toying over the idea of writing a few entries about students who seem like they might have interesting stories to their names, people he could write stories for. Possibly he might imagine the girl in the middle left set of desks, the one her blonde hair dyed bubblegum pink. Or maybe the pair of twins he has split between two of his classes, one who can get a laugh from anyone and the other who might be the next poet of century from what he’s shown so far. Any of them could have any story, and he’s silently thankful that he’s landed himself in a job where he has this sliver of free time during class to mull over such ideas.  
  
His mind wanders through all sorts of things until he lands on remembering his own years of sixth form.  
  
He slowly rips apart a spare sticky note he had crumpled at the edge of his desk and lets himself remember. Back then it was like looking through a kaleidoscope, with all different colors and patterns confusing every thought. Back when his friends would be chatting about the girl’s volleyball coach, and Stan had a steady girlfriend who he’d buy flowers for. Back when he didn’t think he felt the same about the guy who repaired his bike after Lottie backed over it when mum let her drive. Back when his eyes lingered on the muscles at the small of his mates’ back.  
  
Back when he’d been to scared to tell anyone about any of that.  
  
He never said a word about how he felt out loud until halfway through his first year of university. It was a Saturday night and they’d been walking home from a bar, Niall had been the sober one for once. Louis stumbled around giggling like an idiot at how the moon looked like a toenail. A girl he’d been seeing for three months had broken it off earlier that day, said she just didn’t feel the spark anymore. Louis held himself back from saying, _“there never was one.”_  
  
He’d slumped into a bench along the sidewalk and dropped his head back to look up at the sky. Niall had leaned back against a lamppost with his hands in his front pockets, not pushing Louis to say anything at all. Everything had been quiet for a few minutes. His bottom lip had curled in and there was a tightness in his throat as he tried not to say it, but he did. It had come out in a rush on the tail end of a sob with the words, _“I’m gay”_. The beat in his chest felt like it was going to strangle him but he couldn’t stop. _“I’m gay, Ni. I’m gay and-”_ The tears left hot tracks down his cheeks, racing one after the other. His hand had come up to cover his mouth because his breathing had been catching in all the wrong places. _“Shit-”_ he hadn’t dared to look up at his friend’s expression. But he didn’t have to, because Niall’s arm was around his shoulders then. He told him it was okay, that it didn’t change anything. Louis hadn’t believed him then, hadn’t believed him for a long time after that.  
  
It’d been messy and unplanned, but after that night he had slowly learned how to accept himself. He’d graduated and stayed friends with Niall through all of it. He’d met Zayn one afternoon at the library and found out that they had more in common than just a liking for Huckleberry Finn. Zayn had a long distance boyfriend named Aiden at the time, he had no friends and he’d just moved into town. Niall thought he was hilarious and took the piss out of him for the way he styled his hair but he fit into his life seamlessly. The three of them had been best mates ever since.  
  
Four years down the line and here he is, sitting in his last hour of the school day. Now, scribbling notes for what grades he needs to enter tonight and the groceries they’d run out of. He smiles a little with remembering that he’s come out the other side of things and done alright.  
  
He can’t help but remember the fact that he’s walking on thin ice with the idea of Harry. The pool of guilt still sits at the pit of his stomach. To say that he’s been doing all he can to avoid the thought of legs that go on for miles and a lopsided smile is an understatement. He has to build up his walls, he won’t let this affect anything - he can’t.  
  
“Mr. Tomlinson?” A voice asks. He looks up from his papers and sticky notes to see Liam with his paper in one hand, looking hesitant.  
  
“Yes Liam?”  
  
He looks hesitant for a moment, like he might say something else, but then shakes his head, his shaggy waves swishing from side to side. “Just wondering where we turn these in?”  
  
“Oh uh, I’ll take it here,” Louis gives him a tight smile. “Thank you.”  
  
Liam heads back to his seat as the rest of the class finishes up, and Louis goes back to reading over his notes on what he’ll be lecturing tomorrow. The time ticks by just as slow.  
  
***  
  
  
As much as he’d wanted to go straight home after school got out, all the staff had gotten a notice email saying that they needed all attendance records and minor grade reports in by four o’ clock. So that had left him at his desk, furiously typing away for an extra hour and a half in order to catch up on everything, longing for a fresh cuppa and some time away from technology.  
  
Once he’s finally finished, he gathers his papers and binders, stuffing them into his messenger bag before slinging it over his shoulder. The hallways are quiet and he locks his door quickly, not really wanting to linger and be drawn into a conversation with any of his coworkers at the moment.  
  
He makes a mental note as he heads out the side doors towards the mostly empty staff parking lot to open the blinds in his classroom tomorrow. The weather has changed from this morning and he hadn’t even been able to notice. There’s a damp, cool mist hanging over the pavement as he hitches his bag’s strap further up on his shoulder. He walks along the line of the football pitch, a worn down metal fence standing between him and the green. When he gets to his car, popping the boot to set his things in, he finds himself staring out over the grass. He can’t see to far down the field because of the fog, but now that he’s stilled he can listen.  
  
There’s a swish from the opposite end of the pitch, it’s a noise Louis would know anywhere. The sound of a net catching in goal.  
  
He slowly closes the boot and leans against it. One, two, three goals caught a row. He can hear each one of them, whoever’s practicing has pretty good agility. Through the haze he can see the shadowed form of a figure, maybe the weather is clearing or maybe it’s just his eyes are adjusting, but he wants a closer look. Besides, if he can’t see them there’s no way they’ll notice a bystander. He can watch for a bit and head off.  
  
The thing is, Louis used to play football. Back in his final years before going off to uni he’d been captain of his team. He hasn’t played in years, not _really_ played anyway. He misses it now, looking through the chain link of the fence from across the lot. He thinks about back then, when he’d scored the winning goal at their finals and how everything else had faded away. In that moment it hadn’t mattered what he knew about himself that everyone else didn’t. It’s a memory he goes back to when there are storms clouding his mind.  
His heels scrunch the loose gravel into the damp pavement as he crosses the lot and slowly makes his way along the fence, towards the stands. Another goal gets in, and he can see the figure more clearly now, as whoever it is runs back to midfield to dribble down again. It’s a boy, Louis can tell that now from the gait of the run, the strength in the legs.  
  
The boy adds in a few turns and fakes before approaching the goal again, when he shoots it in Louis thinks it’s a sure shot and clenches a fist out of habit. The ball ricochets off an angle of the left post, carried by the force of the kick it flies back towards where it came from. The boy doesn’t make a move to go after it, instead he stands in the same place he shot from. Louis can see his shoulders visibly rising and falling, breathing hard from exertion and - from the way he seems more tense than before - frustration.  
  
He moves further down the fence so he can get a better look, it’s subconscious almost. He stops when he gets to a break in the link, a gate where the mower most likely enters.  He curls his fingers around the metal of the post beside him. The boy is turning towards the bench then and Louis stomach flips and his head rushes because what had been hidden by fog before is now clear.  
  
There’s Harry. And here’s Louis.  
  
Louis who is standing here watching his student after school hours from a mere twenty feet away. Louis who knows it’s wrong to be watching any of his students like this, but this is Harry which only makes the drop in his stomach go even further into the basement.    
  
Harry is wearing a longsleeve black jumper and jogger’s with the school’s colors of green and white embroidered in. His cleats look newer and maybe that’s why he’s been doing speed drills, trying to break them in. But it doesn’t make sense for him to come alone when dusk is just beginning to fall.  
  
Louis is still frozen to the spot as Harry is grabbing for his water bottle, tipping it back and drinking down slow. There’s nowhere to run and no place to hide, so when Harry brings the bottle back down his eyes are right on target.  
  
“Mr.Tomlinson?”  
  
Shit. Absolute shit.  
  
He clears his throat. “Um, hi.”  
  
Harry’s initial surprise is fading and is replaced by a genuine smile. Louis barely gets a chance to see that though, as it’s just as quickly replaced by a familiar smirk. “I didn’t really take you for the kind to be involved in after school activities, huh?”  
  
Louis is shaking his head, hands in the pocket’s of his gray peacoat as he takes a small step back. “I’m sorry, I uh- I don’t know why I kept watching it’s just- I’m sorry, I should go-”  
  
“No, no stay.” Harry’s forehead is glistening with a sheen of sweat from the exercise and his breathing is still uneven. “I was just about to leave.”  
  
The playfulness is still there, and so is the flirty glint in his eye, but there’s a more open side of the younger boy showing now. Louis feels like he’s not the only one feeling flustered. “I’m really sorry, Harry. It’s just, I heard someone out on the field and it’s been a slow day, I’m just, I’m really sorry.” He finishes lamely, not really knowing where he’s going but still feeling like an idiot for the situation he’s gotten himself into.  
  
There’s a pause. “Slow day?”  
  
Louis’ eyes flick up to meet his at the question. “Yeah, you’ll have to make up a timed paragraph writing tomorrow, sorry to say.”  
  
Another pause, more weight to it this time. “And what if I am unable attend?” One of Harry’s sharp teeth bite at his bottom lip and Louis can see the flash of white over red.  
  
“Well, seeing as how you’re in fine health from the looks of things,” he gestures to Harry in general, “I’d have to ask, why not?”  
  
Harry holds his gaze for a moment, taking a breath that could be considered a sigh, before casting his eyes towards his cleats. Louis can feel a chill at the skin of his neck, deciding it is dusk indeed. Harry looks up again, smirk less present but still visible. “Just a curiosity.”  
  
Louis bites his lip slightly and nods. His next question comes without his consent, not able to catch it before the words are out. “How’re you getting home, then?” Harry raises an eyebrow and Louis feels like the air is much too thin for breathing. “Just wondering, you know, seeing as how you probably can’t drive yet and it’s getting dark,” he says, trying to repair things but only making it worse.  
  
“Was planning on a walk, actually,” Harry says, looking like he’s turned from prey to hunter. Louis doesn’t know whether he likes this chase or not.  
  
“You sure?” And damn it, he knows he should stop, but he can’t. “It’s getting fairly dark...”  
  
“Well do you have any other ideas?”  
  
There it is. There’s his chance. A fork in the road that can lead either way.  
  
“How long of a walk were you planning on?”  


“It’s a fair 45 minutes.”  
  
“Shouldn’t take much more than 15 by car, then.” When did his mouth get a mind of it’s own?  
  
Harry looks him up and down before nodding. “I’ll grab my stuff, then.”  
  
***  
  
Louis really has no idea what kind of boat he’s put himself in. One moment he’d been feeling embarrassed and ashamed for watching Harry play, (and getting caught at it) and the next he’d been offering him a ride home. Now here they are, Louis in the driver’s seat and Harry at his left. Louis is watching the road and Harry is watching Louis.  
  
“Just tell me where to turn and all that.” Louis breaks the silence that had been there since they’d left the field. He feels exposed and drawn out, like Harry can see all of what he’s been thinking. Can see what happened this morning in the shower and how it mirrors his actions of the night before.  
  
Harry remains silent, but when they get to an intersection he points right. The road he turns onto leads them through winding curves on pavement for a while before slowly giving way to gravel and then dirt. The air between them feels tense and loaded.  
  
“Have you graded those journal entries yet?”  
  
Louis’ foot falters on the pedal and his breathing catches in his throat, making a wet cough noise to answer Harry’s question. He clears it before answering, feeling caught and cornered when it really should be the other way around.  
  
“Y-yes, and I actually wanted to talk to you about that-” He’s cut off however, by a small beep from behind the steering wheel. A yellow light illuminates the gas icon next the speedometer, warning that he’s considerably low on fuel. “Shit.”  
  
“Mhm...” Harry makes a soft noise beside him and rests his cheek against the window.  
  
“Are we close to your house?” Louis asks, not knowing how much further he can go without just barely making it make to a station in time.  
  
“Not even,” Harry answers, his eyes closed and a smile on his lips. “About ten miles in the opposite direction, actually.”  
  
Louis’ foot slowly slides off the pedal and the car’s speed drops with the absence of the pressure. No cars are anywhere in sight, in front or behind them. They’re surrounded by tall pine trees on either side. “What?”  
  
“Took the wrong turn about three turns back.” Harry’s eyes open and he looks over to meet Louis’ exasperated expression. He shrugs, still smiling and Louis knows this was no mistake.  
  
Louis just stares at him for a long moment, this teenager who has gotten them lost in the middle of nowhere with his green eyes looking darker than usual. With his jumper still slightly rucked up and skin still holding a slight tan from the summer months. He’s all youth and Louis doesn’t know what to make of him anymore.  
  
He sets his jaw before saying, “I’m getting the map.” And he cuts the engine, getting out, and leaving Harry in the front seat. All around the woods is silent, save for a bit of wind that’s begun to pick up overhead. There are no streetlights out here, the sky is beginning to turn from a dull lavender to navy as the sun is further and further away. His stomach is feeling tight, like ropes bunched in a cord. He goes around the back of the car to reach the left backseat where he has a map and a few other assorted things are stashed.  
  
He’s pulling out different brochures and pamphlets, searching for the folded piece of parchment that can lead him back towards civilization, when he hears (or rather feels) a shift in the seat he’s digging under. It’s followed by the click of a car door opening and closing. He knows he won’t find the map, he knows he threw it out months ago and vowed to buy a GPS and never did. He knows all this and he knows that Harry is standing behind him with a full view of his arse bent over the car seat.  
  
So he unfolds himself from the cramped position and stands up slowly, feeling the heat of this boy’s gaze over his every move. What he isn’t expecting is the hand that snakes around his waist and curls over his hipbone. He isn’t expecting the way his entire body suddenly feels so warm, despite the chill that’s settling over the air. He isn’t expecting the way Harry turns him around and presses him against the side of the car, chest to chest. How suddenly there are no spaces between them but every line is creasing against the other.  
  
The next step, in Louis’ mind, is for Harry to kiss him. His heart is beating like a drum to a beat that only gets faster. There’s no instinct for him to push Harry away, instead his hands automatically come to rest on the boy’s waist, holding him there and tugging him closer as Louis feels his jagged breath in his ear. Harry is so much taller than him, despite their seven year age gap.  
  
Age gap.  
  
Fuck.  
  
“Harry-”  
  
Harry makes a small noise in the back of his throat, a breathy cross between a whine and a sob. “I’ve wanted you for so long.” Harry’s shaking his head, nose brushing the soft skin of Louis’ neck. Louis can feel the slight tremble in Harry’s hands, one on his waist and the other trailing up his side under Louis’ shirt, open palmed.  
  
“Harry we can’t-” Louis knows that everything around them is quiet, but there’s a chanting that thrums through his veins, _HarryHarryHarry_. And it’s a loud battle within him as another calls back, _StudentStudentStudent_. “You know we can’t-”  
  
But Harry presses against him harder and he can feel how much Harry wants this, even through the thick material of his jeans. “Please let me Louis-”  
  
That’s what breaks him. His name, dropping all titles, official terms falling away. He wants this so badly and his skin burns where Harry traces his touch. He tilts his head back and closes his eyes for a long moment, logic and reason are loosing this battle because all he wants is this boy.  
  
He says the words on an exhale. “Kiss me.”  
  
And Harry does, lips crushing his and bruising but Louis doesn’t care. It’s Harry. It’s Harry his student and he’s kissing him back and grabbing his jumper and carding his fingers through his silky curls. It’s Harry who pulls him up from he’d been resting back against the car and presses them tighter together and Louis can feel his dick hardening. Harry’s tongue swipes over his bottom lip and he grants him access without hesitation. He feels himself sigh into it and it transforms into a moan as Harry’s tongue slides against his own.  
  
Harry is cupping one hand along the curve of his jaw now, and Louis’ hands snake up the broad expanse of his shoulders. His blunt fingernails drag over the material that hides heated skin and it’s all he can do not to touch Harry where he wants to. That’s one thing he won’t do, thinks maybe if he doesn’t this is less of a crime.  
  
“Backseat,” Louis says on a breathless note before he can stop himself. He doesn’t think he stop now if he tried.  
  
“Yeah,” Harry answers and opens the door wider and Louis scoots in, pulling a strap in one of the seats that folds down the back. Harry follows in after him, shutting the door behind them clumsily before coming to fall over Louis again. It’s a cramped and awkward position at first but as soon as Harry’s flush against him there’s nothing to protest.  
  
They’re kissing again, open mouthed and wet and this is more than Louis has been imaging. His cock is full and Harry’s is pressed right against it, fitting like they were molded for each other. Harry’s making these small sounds that are doing nothing to help, his knees are braced on either side of Louis thighs, rocking them together as Louis’ tongue wraps around his.  
  
“Babe, ‘m not gonna last long with you moving like that,” Louis manages to choke out in a breath when their lips are apart.  
  
One of Harry’s hands trails down from where it had been in his hair, over his chest and down to his crotch. His long fingers curl around the top of the denim, where the button and zipper are straining to stay together against the inward pressure. “Wanna touch you,” Harry’s whispering into his neck, still moving over Louis’ lap. “Please, Lou-”  
  
The nickname goes straight to his cock. “Yeah.” He’s trying not to buck up into Harry on top of him, his entire frame is shaking by his control. “Yeah, okay.”  
  
Harry kisses him again, long and bites Louis’ bottom lip on the drawback. His fingers make quick work of the jeans, pushing them down to Louis’ knees and out of the way. All that’s between them now are a pair of boxers and Louis’ sudden rush of reluctance as Harry pulls the last wall away.  
  
“Jesus Christ,” Harry whispers, looking awed as he takes in what’s before him.  
  
“Wha-” Louis starts to ask but Harry’s kissing him again, this time when he pulls back he rests their foreheads together.  
  
“You’re fucking massive,” Harry whispers, and Louis is about to say that he really isn’t with blushed cheeks but he can’t. He can’t because that’s when Harry takes Louis in his fist. He can’t stop himself this time and lets a low moan slip past his kissed red lips as he thrusts into Harry’s palm.  
  
Harry’s thumb circles over the slit at his head, making Louis shudder before sliding his fist the base and starting to jerk him properly. “Do you want me?”  
  
Louis keens with each pull and he can feel Harry own cock getting friction against his thigh. Both of them climbing and climbing, nearing a peak. “Wanted you since you walked through the door-”  
  
Harry wasn’t expecting that and Louis feels him shudder against him and thrust brokenly before he comes in his joggers, riding out a strain of impressive profanities mixed with slurred things such as, “Fuck, Louis-”  
  
As Harry falters his grip on Louis’ shaft jerks in just the right way and Louis’ hips raise off the leather of the seat, thrusting into Harry’s grip and coming right along with him.  
  
Neither of them can breathe too evenly for a few minutes afterwards, and Louis thinks maybe the wind in the trees isn’t the only thing moving too fast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who left nice comments and kudos on the last chapter! this chapter was written by me (kenzie) and emi is up next! hope you guys like it so far! ♡♡


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> emilie's chapter !   
> i hope you enjoy!

Louis, mostly, is very jumpy for the next night. Niall and Zayn give him weird looks at dinner when he walks in with a wrinkled shirt and messy hair. He just says he had a long day when they ask him if anything’s wrong, and he feels bad for snapping at them, but it’s mostly just a mantra of _shit a student rutted against my leg and gave me a handjob I’m gonna get fired and I’m an idiot_ going off in his head. He eats hurriedly and closes himself off in his room with a cup of tea and a stack of papers much too large for his liking. He does his best to distract himself as he grades, and sometimes he’ll come across a paper that is truly horrific. One paper completely omits an conclusion, and he has to remind himself not to swear in red pen. 

_Have you forgotten that you must_ conclude _a paper, Mr. Shetfield?_ he scrawls in ink. He stares down at what he writes. Too brutal? he wonders briefly. Or not brutal enough? He sighs and scrubs a hand across his face. He flips back to the first page of the essay and scratches out a messy 79 on the top before starting on a new one. It is going to be a long night, specifically after dropping Harry home after barely making his way out of the middle of nowhere on practically no gas. 

He’s far too stressed out for twenty-four. He needs a vacation, and it’s only September still. He makes it through about half the stack before giving up and retiring to bed. He wants to pull Harry’s hair out from his head because he can’t stop thinking about the way he ran his hands through it. He tugs on sweatpants, brushes his teeth, and does not get a lot of sleep that night. 

*** 

The next morning is terrible. He wakes up with circles under his eyes and a bruise on his neck that certainly was not there the morning before. He’s thankful that it’s autumn, though, because scarves are socially acceptable then, right? Besides, he’s a teacher, and he can do whatever the fuck he wants. He showers, dresses in a maroon jumper and a black scarf, and blow dries his hair into a soft fringe. He makes his tea extra strong, and then he’s driving to school in his shitty car and trying not to think about how Harry made him come over his fist in the very back seat. Sure as hell smells like it. He rolls down his windows. 

He changes the date on the board and then slumps in his seat once he gets to homeroom. It feels like forever before the first bell rings, and that is not a good sign. A long day is really the last thing he needs. He lets out a yawn and writes another sticky note. _Sleep normal hours!!!_ He knows it’s not going to happen, but he sticks it on his pencil holder regardless. He doesn’t think he’s slept a normal hour since he was about ten, when he would sleep at nine and wake at eight. The good old days. 

When Harry walks in, he’s not wearing the smirk that Louis would expect him to be, but instead talking quietly to Liam about something he wants to hear but knows he shouldn’t. Of course, a majority of his morals were broken yesterday, but he’s in front of a class, so he holds back from blatantly eavesdropping. His eyes look red and his hair is awry. Liam squeezes his shoulder after he sits down at his desk in the very front row, and Louis has to push himself not to freak out in the middle of homeroom and ask him what’s the matter. 

He waits until the final bell rings, though, and Louis kind of had plans to ignore him today, even though that’s stupid and immature, but for fuck’s sake he got this kid off in the back seat of his bloody car! Either way, he’s quick to stand from his desk and grab Harry’s wrist gently as he tries to weave his way through the students. 

“Harry, can I talk to you for a second?” Louis asks. 

Harry stumbles. “I – I’ve got class. I’ve gotta go.” He makes to leave, but Louis still has his wrist. 

“I can write you a pass.” Harry sighs. “I just wanted to ask: are you all right?” 

“Fucking fabulous, Mr. T.,” he mutters, and then he’s gone, and Louis is still wondering what’s wrong. 

*** 

Apparently, Harry’s bad moods do not last very long, because by fifth period he’s got his big cheeky smile on those bright pink lips and he hasn’t taken his eyes off of Louis for a second. He’s got his chin propped up on his hand, and it looks almost ridiculous, like a scene in a film where the student is merely daydreaming, but the thing is that he knows Harry’s paying attention, too. He’s got one of the highest grades in the class. 

He bats his eyelashes almost comically, and Louis has to hold back his snort and eye roll. Louis gives them busy work toward the end of class, mostly because he’s lazy and stupid, too, because he’s going to have to mark those later, but, it gives him time to sit and wait as he meets Harry’s eyes every two minutes when he looks up. Before the bell for sixth rings, Harry raises his hand, and Louis has to answer. 

“Yes, Harry?” 

“Have you got extra help today, Mr. Tomlinson? I think I need some help with stuff after class.” His eyes are wide and Louis knows that he needs zero help. 

“No, it’s always on Thursdays, you know that.” 

“Right, sorry,” Harry says, and then Louis knows that he’s coming after class either way, extra help aside. And that’s well – shit. 

*** 

“Can you kiss me now? School’s out,” Harry whines, and yes, definitely shit. Bloody fucking shit, and Harry with his big pretty eyes and prettier lips. 

“No, Harry,” Louis says. “Go home, do your homework or something.” 

“Oh, so we’re playing the petulant, fractious, _lame_ teacher now, are we?” Fucking Harry and his big vocabulary when he’s supposed to be _failing_ his English class, looking at Louis like that all afternoon. 

“Harry,” Louis warns. 

Harry just laughs and leans a little closer. “You know you want it,” he whispers against the shell of Louis’ ear. Louis _doesn’t_ , doesn’t shudder. 

“Fuck you,” Louis breathes, suddenly angry at Harry, angry at himself for the lack of self control he has. Why can’t he be a normal teacher? He was a fine TA. But nope. Louis’ life has a track record of keeping things a little too interesting. 

Harry hums, and takes Louis’ hand and slides it onto his bum, and then takes his other one and slides it into his hair. “C’mon, Mr. T. Man up.” 

“Ugh,” Louis is growling, but then they’re kissing and it’s messy and uncoordinated, Louis shoving Harry against the whiteboard and biting his lips red. He licks into Harry’s mouth, glancing warily at the door that’s closed but certainly not locked. He bites down his neck, licks at his tongue. “Fucking–” he starts, but doesn’t finish, because Harry just keeps kissing him, holding onto his biceps where he’s pressed into the board. Louis squeezes his bum almost greedily, pulling himself closer to Harry and pressing Harry further against the wall. 

“Y’know,” Harry starts in his ear, breath heavy and coming in short pants, “‘ _fuck you_ ’ is not the nicest thing to say to your _student_.” 

And Louis hates him. He hates him so much. 

“You’re a twat,” he growls, and kisses him again, hands pushing into his hipbones and keeping him against the board. He sucks on his tongue and bites his bottom lip as he pulls away. “Fucking hell.” 

Harry opens his eyes and flutters his eyelashes, eyes wide and bright green and glassy. “Can I suck you off?” he asks, and Louis almost chokes, because suddenly that stupid note Harry left him doesn’t sound so farfetched, and all of his guilty fantasies about his dumb, pretty pink lips wrapped around his cock in the middle of class don’t seem so strange and inappropriate. 

Louis masks his want with teasing. “Greedy one, are you? You want my cock?” He presses the pad of his thumb to Harry’s shiny, pink lip. 

Harry takes a shuddery breath, kisses Louis again. “Please?”And his voice is sweet, and Louis’ shudder wracks his entire body. Harry’s eyes are wide and a shiny green, and Louis might be having a little trouble breathing. “I really want to, Mr. Tomlinson.” 

Louis sucks in a quick breath. “Shit, Harry, call me Louis.” 

“Louis, please let me suck your cock, you can even – you can even fuck my mouth, if you want?” Harry says, his fingers finding Louis’ belt loops and pulling him close, pressing their lower halves together. Louis might die, maybe. 

“Shit – no, you don’t have to,” Louis lets out. Harry looks at him again with the fucking eyes and the lips and god– Louis definitely is having trouble breathing. And Harry kisses him again, all filthy with slick tongues and bites along his jaw and neck. 

“Hey,” he says. “It’s okay. I– I like it.” 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Louis mutters under his breath. Harry pushes Louis a few steps back by the hips so his back isn’t touching the wall anymore, and then sinks to his knees, looking up at him with a look that Louis can’t quite place; it’s absolutely sinful and dirty, but so innocent at the same time, hair falling into his eyes, lips kiss-bitten and asking to be fucked. Louis is very, very screwed. Also turned on. 

Harry smirks at him, deft fingers popping the button on Louis’ trousers and palming him through the fabric. He has to brace himself on the desk behind him. Harry rucks Louis’ shirt up a little, pressing kisses to his waistline where the top of his briefs run along his hips. Harry takes his time, leaving kisses that feel almost like burns to Louis’ skin. He finally pulls the zipper of Louis’ trousers down, pulling out his cock and looking deliciously sultry. 

“Gonna be good, right?” Louis asks, finding his voice somehow in this situation, while his student is on his knees looking up at him with the eyes and the lips and Louis’ cock in his hand. “We gotta stay quiet, don’t wanna get caught. And you’re gonna keep your hands behind your back, yeah?” That’s a command more than anything. Harry follows it, leaving Louis’ cock pressed against his stomach and locking his fingers behind his back. He shakes his head when hair falls in his eyes, and Louis gently brushes his hair from his eyes and nods at him. 

Harry takes the head of his cock into his mouth, sucking gently, no doubt teasing. He goes slow, starts bobbing his head after a moment. Louis’ breath hitches, because _fuck_ , his mouth is even better than he’d imagined it to be, slick and warm, and he’s so eager, looking up with those shiny green eyes and nearly begging to praised. Harry sucks hard, and Louis doesn’t know where to go. His hands grasp the desk, but when more hair falls in Harry’s eyes, he looks up at him cock in his mouth, filling him up, and god, he looks so good, looks like he was born for it, and Louis threads his fingers through Harry’s hair, carding softly. 

Harry keeps moving his mouth, pulling off and using his tongue, dipping into the slit, and he doesn’t take his eyes off of Louis once. When he sucks hard on the head again and then takes him into the back of his throat, Louis’ hips buck involuntarily and his hands tighten in Harry’s hand, and Harry splutters but moans at Louis’ fingers, and fuck, he likes that, too. Louis pulls again, almost experimentally, and Harry’s eyes grow even wider, his legs pressing against Louis’ and rutting just once. 

“Fuck, you’re so good, Harry. Look so good,” Louis lets out. “You’re just –” He stops himself. Takes a deep breath. “Gonna fuck your mouth now, babe.” 

Harry nods around his cock, or does his best to, and Louis twists his fingers in Harry’s hair, and shoves him down further. Harry splutters a little, but lets Louis press further in, jerk his hips erratically. He feels the constriction of Harry’s throat and the way his nose hits Louis’ stomach. He thrusts clumsily into Harry’s mouth, hot and warm and looking fucking obscene as Louis enters it. Harry’s hands are still behind his back, fingers held tight as he struggles to breathe through his nose and Louis tugs on his hair. 

“Harry, I–” Louis chokes out, and Harry just keeps looking up at him, and his thighs quiver as he comes down the back of Harry’s throat, watching him struggle to swallow and sputter. He coughs once, and grins toothily up at Louis. 

“That was hot,” Harry murmurs. His voice is scratchy and deeper than it usually is. Louis can’t get enough. 

Louis tugs on his hair again to get him to stand. His lips are red and his cheeks are pink, and he looks so _young_ , but Louis kisses him and tastes himself in Harry’s mouth and feels Harry’s cock pressing hard into his thigh. His skin is soft, and he’s grinning when he pulls away from the kiss. Louis reaches for his fly, and fucking hell, he’s _definitely_ screwed. 

*** 

On his way out from school he passes the pitch, waiting until Harry has gone, of course, and notices a pair of cleats in the bin as he goes to throw out his water bottle from earlier in the day. They look nearly the same as the ones he saw Harry in yesterday, just beaten and torn up, looking like someone tried to do everything in their ability to destroy them. 

Louis keeps walking and tries to stop thinking . 

*** 

“Louis, you’re coming.” 

“But I have papers to–” Louis starts. Zayn cuts him off with a harsh glance. Louis sips his tea and tries to be nonchalant. 

“You’ve been a total weirdo all week. You’re coming to Tesco’s with me. And telling me what’s up.” 

“Nothing’s up, Jesus Christ,” Louis says, grabbing his coat and following Zayn out the door. They make their way down the stairs, the lift broken. 

“Why are you being so defensive, then?” Zayn pesters, narrowing his eyes and thinking he’s being clever. 

“Because you are very busy shoving your opinion that something is off in my face. I guess, in hindsight, something _is_ off, because it’s you. You thinking something’s off is what’s off.” 

Zayn blinks as he gets in the car. “That made no sense.” 

“It made perfect sense, you’re just having trouble processing my higher level of thinking.” 

“You’re bitchy tonight,” Zayn grumbles. 

“Lovely, you mean,” Louis says, and he turns on the radio to effectively kill the conversation, and gets away with narrowly avoiding an awkward confession of _I’m screwing around with my seventeen-year-old student_. Hopefully that time does not come, but if it does, boy, is it going to be absolutely _joyous_. He taps to the beat of the song on his thigh and tries to ignore the look Zayn is still glancing him every so often as he drives. 

At Tesco’s they shop around a bit, buying shit for Niall and weird coconut water stuff for Zayn and extra razors just because they always seem to be running out. They’re arguing over what brand of crisps to get when Louis hears a familiar voice, hushed and concerned, the aisle over. Liam. And he’s talking to Harry on the phone. 

“Shit, Zayn, hang on,” Louis says. 

“What is it?” 

“My student is in the aisle over, talking to my other student, and I’m worried. Just – hang on. Call me a bad person or whatever, I need to eavesdrop.” So much for not eavesdropping this morning.  Zayn nods, and looks like he has to resist the urge to roll his eyes because there is genuine concern on Louis’ face. 

Louis hands the basket of groceries to Zayn and pads down the aisle, listening closely as Liam speaks on the phone, hushed, his mobile pressed close to the phone. 

“Do you think you’re gonna be in class tomorrow? We have a game, too. You can’t miss – you’re starting,” Louis hears Liam say. Louis can’t hear the other line at all, but he tries to piece together what he’s talking about. “Shit, Harry. You can’t let him do that.” Do what? Louis wonders. Liam sounds scared, and fuck, Louis is panicking a little. Could this be about him? “Are you by yourself now?” He hears Liam breathe a sigh of relief. “Okay, good. Is he hitting you?” Okay, Louis might’ve had Harry choke on his cock, but he didn’t _hit_ him. But that makes things worse. “Are you in pain?” He sees Liam wince visibly from where he’s barely peering around the corner now. “Fuck, Haz. Do you want to stay at mine tonight? See if I can help out? Say you’ve got a project. I’ll drive you in tomorrow.” Liam runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “Yeah, I’m just at Tesco’s now. I’ll just pay and come pick you up. Stay in your room or whatever. Love you, mate, see you in ten.” 

He hangs up and looks teary, and Louis’ chest feels restricted and tight. He walks back to Zayn with a pained expression, and Zayn looks at him warily. 

“Everything all right?” Zayn asks. 

“Erm, I don’t think so, not really?” Louis begins to pace. Fucking shit. This isn’t supposed to happen in real life. It’s like, for overly dramatized teenage reality t.v. shows. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“I think– I think someone’s hurting my student.” 

“Hurting him?” 

“I don’t know, Zayn,” Louis mutters, tugging on his fringe and pushing his glasses up his nose from when he’d taken out his contacts after getting home. “I don’t know. That was all I heard. Over there was Liam, and he was on the phone with Harry, and they were talking about hurting and pain, and he was making an excuse to get Harry over his house, and earlier in the week Harry was at a doctor’s appointment, but it wasn’t even a doctor’s appointment. He had to be lying. He was fine when I saw him on the pitch. He shouldn’t be getting hurt. He’s such a good kid.” 

“Fuck, Lou,” Zayn breathes. 

“Yeah. Fuck.” 

And once again, Louis is wondering what’s wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can find us at eroticlou and loverlouis on tumblr :D


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, everyone! it's kenzi here & wow, so it's been a while, huh? i'm so sorry this has taken so long for me to finish! but um, here's about 9.9k worth of my apology? i hope you all like it!

Trying not to think doesn’t go well for him.

Louis finds himself spending that night laying awake after grading papers, blankets tucked in and light turned out. His mind is running away from him, all the voices shouting different reactions to the worried tone in Liam’s voice. He’s got different images of Harry flashing against his eyelids like sparks, with lost eyes, bruised skin, and a hurt soul.

He knows it isn’t his place to feel this amount of concern; this boy is one out of nearly a hundred students that he teaches. He’s just another one of the many that file in and out of the tight hallways, and that isn’t for him. Not in the way that would make the pangs in his heart acceptable.

But he still thinks, regardless.

That evening on the football pitch, and everything that had followed, had been mutual. It wasn’t as though either of their holds on each other had been more needy, more firm. Both bates of breath had panted the same mantra. That evening with so much desire in his heart, with the thoughts of _please, god i want you_ and _this will only end up hurting us both_ battling in his head. That evening when they’d crossed the line with no way back.

He can't call Harry, or even Liam for that matter. So essentially he's stuck in this feverish headspace with no way out.

A water line on the ceiling trails under the light blue paint from one corner of his room to the other, and Louis thinks it looks like a river. Rivers and streams and tear tracks tracing off of a beautiful boy’s cheeks.

Suddenly the room is too hot and the blankets are too heavy, the rivers and streams are drowning him, and all he’s seeing are two emerald pools glinting in the dim autumn sunlight. He’s pulling on the nearest pair of sweats and stuffing his feet into his Vans. He grabs a city bus pass off the nightstand for good measure and zips a hoodie over the thin material of his sleep shirt, pulling over the hood.

It only takes him twenty quiet steps before he’s out of the flat.

***

The city is muted on Thursday nights, or, scratch that, Friday mornings. The little activity that holds over from the evening dinner rush mostly consists of uni students getting wrecked in the pubs. It makes his stomach churn to think that not very long ago, he’d been one of them.

He’s walked on foot to the downtown area, disregarding the bus pass he’d taken seeing as how their flat is only about five blocks away. His legs feel sluggish, the adrenaline from racing down their building’s center stairway having long since worn off.

He steps into a 24-hour convenience shop and walks past the short aisles of crisps and sweets, back towards the drink coolers. He browses the choices that are lined behind the glass and avoids any other straggling customers, eventually giving up and purchasing a fruity flavored sports drink.

As he’s heading back, somewhat regretting walking this far and not even knowing what time it is, he spots a couple drinking cheap wine on a park bench. A cute, dark haired girl with a pixie cut has a sleepy arm looped and snuggled into a boy not much taller than her. They pay no mind to him as he passes, their hushed words in each other’s ears are too low to be heard.

Louis most certainly does not feel a pang of longing in his heart for another body to lean into. His gaze does not linger on the girl's small hands grasping the boy's jumper.

He keeps walking, sleepy feet dragging slightly as he tries to hurry his pace. He ducks his hooded frame under street lamps and past rusted fences, most definitely not wishing for long legs and long fingers intertwining with his.

***

School mornings are a mastered art, Louis supposes. Because he has most certainly gotten better at them.

He dresses in a pair of khakis, pulling over a white knitted sweater over his tight gray t-shirt and leaving his hair flat, opting to wear his red framed glasses instead of contacts for once.

Before he knows it, he's fishing the city bus pass out of last night's clothes fifteen minutes ahead of schedule, and half tripping over a pile of Zayn's art supplies on the way out - hearing Niall mumble a, “you’re a fucking elephant, Tomlinson,” from the couch.

He doesn’t think about driving his car to Liam’s house. He doesn’t think about staying late after school with Harry yesterday. He doesn’t think about calling in sick and pounding the living brains out of whoever could possibly make Harry hurt. He doesn’t think.

He doesn’t.

***

He's at school with record time to spare, holding files and paperwork in one hand and a half eaten breakfast pastry in the other. The glossy floor of the main hallway shows him his own distorted reflection as he looks down to search for the keys to his classroom in his pocket. Friday, he thinks. Fucking finally.

In all honesty he's impressed with himself for pulling things together with only four hours of sleep under his belt. As he steps inside he notices that the room is just as he left it. No surprises there.

He stuffs the rest of the flaky pastry in his mouth and grabs a mug off of his desk, opting to go and fill it up with whatever is brewed in the staff lounge. Hardly anyone has arrived yet, a few other teachers and some early school bus riders at the most.

What he isn't expecting is the firm grasp that clutches at his jumper, tugging him out of the hallway and into a storage closet. He was just about to greet Lisa, one of the math assistants, planning on attempting a sort of friendliness for at least one other co-worker. But instead he hears the door click as it locks closed behind him and is pulled into darkness. He reaches a hand out and steadies himself on the metal of a storage shelf, eyes adjusting as he flounders. His heart is jack hammering in his ear but any kind of protest dies on his lips the moment he recognizes the pair of forest green eyes looking back at him.

He nearly drops his mug.

"Hi, Lou," Harry speaks, voice sounding like a Friday morning. Relieved.

“Harry?” He shouldn’t be incredulous, he knows who this is. It’s just. The boy he’s been picturing in his mind for the last twelve hours is standing right in front of him. He feels like he should scold him for pulling him in here, tell him in a superior tone that he can’t just do that.

Instead he feels like he can’t believe his luck.

Harry’s only response to Louis saying his name like a question is to blink and take a slow step forward. Louis can feel the distance between them like a frozen lake in January, seeing the opposite shore but not knowing how thin the ice is, not knowing if it’s safe enough to cross.

“What are you doing in here? Class starts soon and–” He’s stammering and all he means to say is _“you’re okay, you’re safe”_. But in the place of finishing his sentence, there’s a warm mouth on his own and he's pressed back against the stacked cardboard boxes, probably full of notebooks and whatever else a school needs. Louis isn’t thinking straight enough to care. Harry takes the mug out of his hands gently and places it aside. There’s a pressure on his hip, and he guesses it must be Harry’s palm. Heat courses through him like a pulse.

“Wanted to see you,” Harry murmurs against his lips, but it isn't seductive, it's honest. A quiet thing, like a whisper, like it’s the most secretive thing in the world. Louis feels his heart lift.

“Harry I,” he tries, but Harry pecks him on the lips. When he pulls back Louis’ mouth chases his and Harry’s tongue willingly slides against his own. God, they’re close, but it’s not enough.

“Can I suck you off again?” Harry asks, and if Louis wasn’t thinking clearly before, well.

“Here?” He nearly chokes on the word.

"Yeah." And the hand that was resting on his hip has now moved to palm him through his khakis. Harry doesn’t give him the chance to answer though. They keep kissing and it's slick and wet and Harry tilts his jaw to lick into his mouth at the best possible angle. Louis' hands are gripping at his shoulders, but his hold is light. Like if he pulls him too hard or wants him too much, all of this will crumble.

"You can touch me. I'm not going to break," Harry says against the curve of his jaw. And Louis is thinking of grocery stores and eavesdropping between esiles seven and eight when Harry bites down on his bottom lip. And then his hands are roaming over all of Harry's long lines, pulling and holding like he's meant to. Harry's lips are bruising and Louis gasps into his mouth as Harry slots a leg between his.

Louis' already getting hard and he can feel Harry in between his thighs, school clothes doing nothing to hide the obvious erection he's now sporting. Harry’s young, fuck. Louis has to remind himself that Harry is seventeen, and this doesn’t mean anything more than the basics.

"Are you this easy for all your students?" he hears as Harry bites a mark into his shoulder and moves his hips. The angle is just right and Louis feels a ripple of pleasure run under his skin.

"Fuck you," his voice is only a breath. Louis thinks Harry is shattered glass beneath a river's surface, and he's going in barefoot.

Harry shakes his head. "I just want to make you come down my throat."

Harry drops to his knees and makes quick work of Louis' trousers, no time for protests. Louis' breaths are leaving him in short clouds and he fists Harry's hair on instinct. There's a warm breath over the bulge in his shorts and he thanks himself for wearing his favorite dark blue Calvin Kleins today. Harry licks a stripe over the dampening material and Louis bites hard on his lip to contain a whine.

"Eager, are we?" He can literally hear Harry's grin in his voice. Louis just lets out a somewhat desperate noise, his eyes remaining closed and his chin back so that his head rests against a cabinet. He doesn't get any chance to answer as he hears the school bell ring, warning for only five minutes until class begins. He thinks maybe he might pull back, might say there isn't any time or something to call this off. But it's lost on him as Harry swiftly pulls down what remains between them and takes Louis into his mouth, hot and heavy and obscenely slick.

"Harry," is all he can manage. Harry bobs on him in slow movements, tongue working wonders against a vein on Louis' underside. He looks up at him with those green eyes beneath his curly fringe and shows Louis his hands, making a show of clasping them behind his back.

"Just like before?" Louis is somehow is able to ask, and Harry nods. His grip on Harry's curls tightens and he feels a coiling of heat low in his stomach. Harry moans like he's actually the one receiving this. It's loud and unashamed and if it weren't for all the lockers slamming and loud chatter only four feet away from them, he's sure it'd be heard all the way to the locker rooms. Louis remembers that he isn't the first to receive this from Harry, and something spikes low within him. It's possessive and full of intent. It's completely unwarranted, but his hips snap forward and Harry splutters around him.

"You're amazing, do you know that?" He's chasing it, Harry's mouth is delicious and wet. He feels Harry lift his soft palate in order to allow Louis to go deeper. Harry's eyes are red rimmed and glassy from how quickly their new rhythm has picked up. "You're so good, Harry, you have no idea." Harry actually _whimpers_ , and Louis sees that one of his hands has snuck down to unbutton his trousers.

“So good for me, Haz, c’mon.” Harry’s rubbing a fast friction over his crotch and Louis swear it’s one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen, as Harry lets himself go. It's like watching a tight bowstring snap. Harry’s jaw goes slightly loose around him as a small noise escapes the back of his throat. Harry’s just come inside his school trousers.

"Harry I'm," he starts like an apology, but Harry doesn’t hesitate, just grabs the backs of his thighs and sucks him down. Louis loses himself down Harry's throat with a cry, hips rocking back and forth with a jolt, fingers threading and pulling in Harry's hair.

Harry swallows as of him and looks up at Louis like he's won the lotto, cheeks flushed with rose and eyes sparkling. The first period bell chimes and the hallways are blissfully silent, it's just them breathing. It's just them, and Louis doesn’t know when that began to feel like a whole hell of a lot.

***

Harry grabs an extra pair of trousers from his footie bag and arrives fifteen minutes late to class, only five minutes after Louis. The class has got a paper airplane sailing through the air, which Louis plucks out of mid-flight, stiff neck that he is. By the time Harry comes waltzing through the door, pocketing what looks to be his mobile with his eyes downcast, Louis is calling roll. And well, that’s certainly a mood swing if he’s ever seen one. Harry settles into his desk, ignoring Liam’s greeting and Sophia’s question of if he has an extra pen. Louis sees all of this but manages a soft smile as he makes his way through the agenda.

The day goes by in something of a mix of color. There are unasked questions sitting in the hollow of his chest as he sits through each of his classes. When he catches Harry's eyes in last period while passing back papers, they're guarded. He doesn't look up and keeps his gaze focused on where he's twirling a pen between his long fingers, eyes hidden from Louis beneath his fringe of curls. He knows that the upturn of disappointment in his belly is completely uncalled for.

It's dangerous, is what it is, like lighting fires in the dead of night. They've both got secrets now, and Harry is sitting here like a fuse waiting for a spark. To say Louis is scared shitless might not be all that much of a reach. After all, it only takes one of them to come clean. He hates himself for even thinking that Harry would, but in all honesty, what does he know of Harry beyond the classroom and the space between their hungry mouths?

He doesn't have to remind himself to avoid Liam's gaze as a layer of guilt settles over his stomach.

He goes on through his lesson plans, sticky notes crumpled and thrown aside as he grows more and more restless. By the time the cancellation announcements are blaring over the intercom, he's got a new mark bitten on the inside of his cheek.

When the final bell rings, Liam keeps close to Harry's side as they exit, glancing at other students defensively and keeping a close stance to the boy beside him. Louis waits until the last of his students have left before falling into his desk chair and feeling a tired ache settle between his ribs.

***  
  
“So you just let him go?” Zayn’s voice is disbelieving on the other end of the line. Louis putters around with the tea kettle while fixing himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

“What other choice do I really have, Z?” He spreads a glob of the strawberry jam and gets it on his hands by accident. “It’s not like I can confront him about what I heard yesterday, and I especially can’t say anything while we’re at school.” He’s growing more and more agitated as he closes the sandwich over and runs his hands under the kitchen sink, hot water startling him as he curses loudly.

“Right, but you couldn’t ask him to stay after class?” Zayn sounds like he’s lifting something with a grunt and there is soft chatter in the background which most likely means his pottery class is starting soon.

“He and Liam were the first ones out of the room, the bell was still going off when they were down the hallway, couldn’t even get a word out.” The kettle begins a low hiss and he moves to turn off the heat before it starts screaming. “He wouldn’t make eye contact with anyone in the entire damn room, and it certainly didn’t seem like he minded being around me this morning when he-”

Louis stops himself.

“When he...” Zayn prods.

“Nothing,” he breathes. “Just, it shouldn’t have anything to do with me, really?” It comes out as a question.

“Then I guess, if you really care for him, which I think you do,” Zayn is rummaging through his supplies. “Then you need to be there for him, yeah? You don’t have to ask questions, but be a silent presence?”

Louis doesn’t say anything for a moment, just pours the scalding water into his favorite baby blue mug and stares down into it. If Harry is going through hell, then Louis should be there right along beside him, at whatever distance he can manage to get.

“Louis?” Zayn is patient.

“Yeah, okay.” He nods, mostly to himself, drumming his fingers on the counter in a rhythm. “I think I know what to do.”

“Good.” And maybe it sounds like Zayn says it with a smile. The door to the flat opens with a soft turn of a key, Niall steps inside with a shiver. “And Lou?”

“Yeah?” Louis is pouring out the water into the sink and moving to throw his sandwich away. Niall grabs his wrist with a quick movement, with a hushed “don’t think so, mate.”

“Don’t let this one get away,” Zayn’s voice is warm but almost unreadable over the phone. Louis really doesn’t know what to say to that, so it’s good when he hears, “Class is starting up, but I’ll talk to you later, alright?” And then the line’s dead.

Louis draws his phone back, staring at the screen. A rush of urgency flushes through him as he looks over to the clock above the stove.

“Something up?” Niall asks around a mouthful.

Louis swallows his nerves, trying to fight the fluttering in his chest. “How do you feel about going to watch some young lads kick a ball around?”

***

Louis never really pictured it quite like this.

Looking back at his interview for his teaching position, if you’d told him he’d be sitting his arse on the cold metal of the school’s bleachers, waiting with anxious butterflies in his stomach for the school’s team to come out for kick off, he’d probably have asked you what the fuck for? But it seems that there’s no questioning the jitters that he’s got running through him as Niall munches through a bag of the concession stand popcorn. (“Well, Tomlinson, you certainly know how to properly wine and dine a chap.”) And well, here they are.

A balding man with standard black and white stripes down his shirt blows the five minute call on his whistle, and the opposing team breaks their huddle. Conditions are fair, Louis observes to distract himself, the pitch is a bit damp and the sky is clouded as the sunlight fades. There’s a chilled breeze causing goosebumps to rise along the bare skin of his throat. Perfect.

The stands are fairly packed, he recognizes a few of his students with their faces painted in green and white, school colored Mardi Gras beads runnings loops around their necks. A few of his other coworkers are here as well, looking coded up and distant with their familes, in their own little world.

The home locker room door opens and the benched players take their places. The student section rushes to organize themselves and picks up a low, building chant that sparks a nostalgic jump of adrenaline in Louis’ veins. Their seats move with the steady jump of the beat.

“What’s his number?” Niall asks and really, Louis shouldn’t be all too surprised that Zayn took the time to fill him in.

He swallows his pride. “Seventeen.”

The rest of the team follow suit, filing out of the locker rooms with game faces on. Liam is the second one out. Louis’ eyes continue to search down the ranks. Their jerseys are crisp white with emerald green lettering and font, with shorts to match. Cleats are the only thing that are unique to the individual.

Harry brings up the end of the line, he’s rolling his shoulders and looking down the field towards the opposing team, who are clothed in maroon and gold kits. If Louis had to answer right then, he’d say yeah, that’s a smirk playing across Harry’s lips. Why Harry’s eyes were settled on a certain number eleven on the rival’s end of the grass, he had no idea.

Niall chimes in with a whistle, just low enough for the two of them to hear and Louis’ skin flushes. “Oh shove off,” is all he manages to bite out.

Louis’ eyes follow Harry as he takes up position as attacking midfielder. Harry reaches back and catches his legs for a final stretch, his kit shifts and Louis sees the captain’s band that’s wrapped tightly around his right bicep. Can’t say he was expecting that. There’s no time to dwell on it though, as the referee blows his whistle again and Louis recognizes Aiden Grimshaw stepping up for kickoff.

The game moves at a choppy flow, lots of back and forth with either teams both lacking the comittment or gusto to try a risky play. Past halftime and into the third quarter they stand at 2-0, home team with the lead. The students and supporters in the stands are rumbling the foumdation of the stands as the green and white jerseys take the ball back. Louis leans forward with his elbows on his knees and scrutinizes a different players form every few minutes. So he's a bit of a perfectionist, screw him.

Harry though, is a different verse altogether. Try as he might - and he does try - Louis has trouble finding any major chinks in his armor. His stride is powerful as he tracks down toward the opposite end's defense, ready to take a pass as he weaves and dodges. Louis watched his footwork in the early quarters, there's definite skill and a decent amount of talent in the way he dribbles downfield. The only flaw he can immediately recognize is that Harry's gait, although strong, teeters towards his left. He favors his right leg in every slide and kick, saving his left from taking any of the brunt.

Niall's making jibes at their opponents under his breath and even crossing his fingers at the penalties. Louis is just thinking they might be able to make him a tride and true local fan. He's got his gaze turned to the side to quip something to Niall when out of the corner of his eye, he sees it.

Louis wouldn't have been able to catch it if his gaze wasn't so atomatically drawn to a distinctive head of curls, which is now being smothered under the choke hold of a certain number eleven in an away colored jersey.

Niall's on his feet with his fingers clutching at his hair and he's cursing out with reckless abandon. Louis, however, can only stay glued to his seat with his mouth agape as he watches.

Harry seemed to be taken off guard by the assault but it takes him a maker of three seconds to grab the strangling bicep around his throat, and use it as a lever to drive his elbow back in the body behind him. His attacker apparently wasn't expecting as much and keels over, choke hold going slack as he tumbles onto the grass. But Harry isn't done, once number eleven (for lack of a better name) is on the ground, Harry's got him pinned and lands a solid punch square to his jaw. He's wild and uncontrolled, green and white jersey clinging to him at every angle and the expression he's wearing looks almost satisfied. Like this was expected all along.

"What the fuck?" Louis manages to finally spit out.

Niall's got his hands on the fence and he's screaming, face beet red. "The cunt came at him!" He's yelling at the refs. "Did you see it? Are you fucking blind, mate?"

The hoards of young students to their sides and behind them take his lead, booing and cursing as the two boys are torn apart. Harry looks no worse for wear.His cheeks are flushed with color and he snides something at the boy who is still on the ground, the words look to be laced with malice. Louis can't hear them, but there's enough poison in Harry's eyes to strike him cold. Number eleven, on the other hand, has a bruised chin and bloodied lip and looks utterly terrified.

The call is made as the opposite team sit their battred teammate on the bench. Harry's given a red card and told he will be sitting out for the remainder of the game.

Louis feels his blood run red.

"Are you kidding me with this shit?" Niall is jumping and bouncing on his heels. Some of the parents and other fans have taken notice of Niall as well, but Louis really has no place to feel embarassed, he's shaking and gripping at his knee's like a vice.

Another ref jogs up to their place in the stands and looks more than annoyed, pointing a finger directly at Niall. "Sir, you're being a bad example for the students. I'm going to have to ask you to leave the match."

***

So that's how they end up watching the match from the parking lot.

It's fine really, except in the way that it isn't. At all.

They watch from the hood of Louis' car for about three minutes, Louis fidgeting the whole time because he can't see a bleeding thing hardly. He's kind of going mad.

"Fuck this," he finally mutters, jumping off the hood. He pulls his fur lined denim jacket tighter around himself and doesn't even check to see if Niall follows.

"Alright, bloody wankers better not lay a finger on me or i'll snap 'em," Niall says as he rushes to catch up. They scurry under the opposite team's seats, peaking out towards the field from between the slots. Niall pulls his hood up and shields his profile. It all feels very 007.

Louis spots Harry on the home bench, he's watching with his bottom lip pulled between his index finger and his thumb. From what Louis can tell there isn't any remorse in his eyes.

They make it time for the final seconds, just as offender from the rival team streaks down the field and heads for home net. The fans above them are cheering and bouncing on their feet, as the score reads 2-1. If this goal is in, they'll continue into over time. Louis thinks he's seen quite enough of this match though, all he wants to do is make sure Harry is okay. And he doesn't really know what that means.

The defenders go for him left and right, but the kid from the other team avoids them all narrowly. The home students on the other side of the field count down the seconds loud enough for all to hear.

_Six! Five! Four!_

Liam shoots out of nowhere, flying after the boy, right on his heels. Louis is pounding his fist on the cold metal of the stands. Louis wants this to be a clear win for them, fuck, he wants there to be no question about who the winner is.

He's shouting now with reckless abandon. "Take him! Fucking take him, Liam, come on!"

_Three! Two!_

Liam gets edged in with just enough of an angle as the kid closes in to take the shot. He dives in at a style similar to American baseball, taking the rug right out from under the attacker and sending the ball flying off towards the sidelines. Just as the buzzer sounds.

The opposite side of the field erupts into cheers as a swarm of green and white jerseys run to Liam from their positions, engulfing him like a crashing wave.

Niall is patting him on the back and screaming about how it's only proper, how he knew it all along. Through the slot Louis can see Harry leaping to his feet to run, to tackle and congratulate his best friend. But his coach puts a firm hand on his shoulder and his stance is solid as he shakes his head no.

Louis feels his heart sink like a dead weight in his chest.

"Oi, Niall!" a voice calls as the losing team's fans begin to disperse. Louis is still staring across the pitch.

"Josh, mate! Shit, man, how've you been?" Niall sounds overjoyed. The kind of heady rush still lingering from having your team win.

"Good, fantastic, how about you? Still choked up in that teeny flat of yours? Still bunking it on the sofa with the lads?"

"Wouldn't have it any other way." They're talking and he should join them, he should. But Harry's getting talked to and it doesn't look good from where Louis stands.

"Louis!" Josh's voice carries him out of his haze, Harry is walking back towards the locker rooms, where the rest of his team galloped not long ago. There's a hand on his shoulder now. He breaks his following gaze from Harry's back and turns to face them.

"Josh, fancy meeting you here!" he chimes in an overly bright tone. Just dull enough around the edges to be believable.

"Yeah, just came to watch my nephew! He was the one there at the end, chargin' the goal, number thirty seven." He looks proud. "Shame he couldn't quite sink it, but he's come a long way!"

Louis nods and Niall summits his agreement. Josh keeps the ball rolling and Louis bounces back and forth on his feet, impatient. For what, he doesn't know.

"My sister and I were just heading out for drinks and burgers on the way home, if you lads wanted to join?"

Niall cursurs a glance at Louis, to which he tries his best to convey his blessing to go on without him.

"I'd love to, but I think Louis here promised to help with some after match duties," Niall supplies, which, Louis will have to commend him for later on.

"Ah, shame." Josh's lips pulls down in an almost frown. "Well, uh, see you around though?"

"For sure, school hours can't chain me forever." He laughs it off.

Josh grins and bids them farewell as they all duck out from under the stands. Louis watches as Niall gives him a backward glance, holding up his crossed fingers for show just like he had when their boys had a chance at scoring. Louis doesn't quite know what to do with that. He's starting to feel a bout of nerves in the pit of his stomach, the floating but heavy kind. Like a weighted balloon. Hopeful but realistic.

Josh bounces in his step and they disappear beyond on the stadium pitch lights as Louis backs his way around the other side of the stands.

***

Harry isn't on the pitch once the stands clear out. He doesn't come out of the locker rooms like the rest of his team. Louis waits, and waits, because really, what else is there for him to do? He's been a mess over this boy for hours and it feels like he's got a fever stirring umder his skin. He aches to touch Harry and hold him, or just _ask_ him if he's okay. Please let him be okay.

Louis waits, resting against the side of the stands, half in shadow, until the bright lights begin to dim. Maybe this is fucked up. Maybe this goes against whatever morals should be screaming at him. He doesn't care. He's so beyond caring at this point.

When the pich is black and every member of the staff has left, he sighs, half frustrated and half defeated, heading back to his car.

When he slams the driver's door behind him, his ears ring slightly and his mind is like a dead channel on the telly. All static in black and white. He turns the key and pulls out of the parking lot, silently giving it up to whoever is in control of all this to please, let Harry get home alright.

It's almost comical, in that he gets an answer only two minutes later as he rounds a street corner. There's a tall, lean figure walking in a slow stride along the side of the road, gear slung over his shoulders and thin black hoodie pulled over his head. Of course Louis knows right away, he feels it like a pull as his headlights shine over him like two moonbeams.

He rolls down the window, cautious. "Harry?"

He stops walking but doesn't turn right away. Louis thinks he sees his fist tighten on the strap of his bag.

"Are you, are you walking home? I mean, hell, it's barely zero degrees out, and you've gotta be tired."

Harry turns and yeah, and there's no going back on this now. His cheeks are pink from the cold and his breath is coming out in wispy clouds. He almost shrugs. "No other way about it." 

Louis swallows and feels his stomach flip, but his mouth is doing the work for him, getting the words out. "Get in, come on."

"Are you sure?" Harry's shoulders soften. "I mean-"

"It doesn't have to mean anything." Louis' heart is saying that's a lie, though not in the obvious way. He's honest now, more so than ever. "I just want you safe."

Harry looks stricken for a short second, like he was expecting something different. Louis thinks he knows, Harry wasn't expecting genuine. But then he smiles and it's blurred away as he slides into the passenger seat.

"I guess maybe you can remember the way, Mr. Tomlinson?" Harry asks, stuffing his bag onto the floor between his knees.

"I'll do my best," he responds. "But you know it's Louis. For you anyway, it's Louis."

Harry shuffles like he's getting comfortable. It's fidgety, and he clears his throat. "Right," he's quiet. "Louis."

And they're off.

***

"Fuck, it's cold," Louis swears under his breath as he knocks lightly.

Harry had taken his cleats off in the car, and Louis hadn't blamed him, those things were torture to walk in after a certain point. But when they had pulled up, said their goodbyes and kept it short, Harry had forgotten them where he had tossed them in the backseat.

He has ebery intent to just leave the cleats at the doorstep. He sets them on the worn welcome mat, he bends and had tied the laces together for good measure.

He stands and turns to leave, heaving a sigh. He just can't seem to get away from this boy, though he isn't sure he wants to.

There's a soft turning sound and the click of a door being opened. "Lou?"

Harry's there when he turns back, standing in the from of the painted yellow house with the overgrown ivy spilling from chipped planter boxes. Louis may have only gone two blocks before coming back, but his hair's damp and all he has covering him are a pair of sleepy looking sweatpants.

"You left those, uh, in the backseat." He losely motions to the shoes. The glow of the porch light is sending sparks behind Louis' eyelids, and he shouldn't feel eighteen, but he does. Because Harry standing there in the doorway, still damp from a quick shower and shirtless. He's remembering closed doors and bated breaths in tight spaces, morning like turning the tips of those curls caramel. He's remembering first impresions and panicked phone calls. And it's fucked, because he's never wanted anyone more.

Harry leans down, the curve of his spine bending as he scoops them up. Louis feels a shiver run over him and realizes that if Harry spends any longer exposed to the cold like this, it won't be helping anything.

"I'll see you in class on Monday, I suppose." He nods and forces his lips into a tight smile. It's getting late, and he needs to go. "G'night, Harry."

"Wait," Harry's voice is sharp and fast. Louis turns and meets his eyes again, shadowed green. "It's Friday night, let me at least make you some hot chocolate for the road."

Yeah. Yeah, okay.

"Sure," he smiles. He doesn't let his head catch up, because he feels this in his fingertips, and damn, it feels good.  
  
He steps inside after Harry, and it feels like they're breaking a barrier. Some wall is being torn town, whether for better or worse.

"Just turned the heat on, so it's still warming up, sorry," Harry says as he walks through the open living room space to the kitchen island.

"No worries," Louis responds quietly, like he's afraid to shatter something. He's flying blind here.

"My parents left this afternoon for something out of town and so uh, it's just me to look after the place." He's shuffling with the milk, pouring it into a mug and setting it in the microwave. Louis smiles as he walks over to lean against the counter, because it's simple.

"The whole weekend to yourself then? Hope you won't let it go to waste, empty house and all." Louis freezes as soon as the words leave his mouth. Harry's back is still to him, pale skin smooth. He turns and Louis feels caught. "Shit I, I didn't mean that."

Harry's silent and Louis might feel like running and never looking back. He eventually opens his mouth to say something but the microwave beeps harshly. Harry shakes his head and pops it open, smartly letting the mug cool before reaching to take it. Louis suddenly feels bold.

"What are we doing here, Harry?" And his fingers grip granite.

"Making hot chocolate, dumb ass." Harry motions to the mug in question and plays stupid.

"How many students invite their teachers in this late at night for hot chocolate, you figure?" Louis feels his stomach tighten. "I don't know what we're doing, this dance we're moving in, I just wanna know if you're as confused as I am."

"I don't have a handbook, Louis, I have no idea." Harry isn't so quiet anymore.

"Well, what do you know, then? 'Cause all I've got is the hole in my chest that keeps telling me-" _that keeps telling me it's where you belong_. He stops himself, though.

Harry lets out a harsh sigh and reaches in for the mug. "Fuck!" He draws back with a hiss. Louis doesn't even think twice, he's got Harry's hand in his and is turning on the cold water in the sink. Harry's breathing is rough and frustrated but Louis shields the burning skin from the straight spout of the water, cradling Harry's hand in his as he works his thumbs over it in a soothing pattern.

It's a moment with rounded edges, a reflection in a dozen mirrors as time slows, and it's only them. There are no handbooks or rules or games to play. They both feel it, and Louis knows.

Snow begins to fall lightly outside the window, stars against a navy sea. Louis works over Harry's hand until his pattern slows, and it's only him holding a larger palm between his fingers. It's only him, and the solid line of Harry's chest molded to his back. He doesn't know when two lines became one.

"Thank you." The voice is gentle in his ear, like water under thin ice.

Louis lets go of Harry's hand, and the water too cold without his warmth. He shuts it off. He turns against the counter and his gaze is down, his head nearly tucked under Harry's chin. Seven years, seven winters seperate them. But it feels like all that matters is this one.

"For what?" he asks, and they're both quiet again. There's a light touch on his cheek, and a cooling palm cupping his jaw. Harry answers him with a kiss.

It's slow, a light taste, but Louis feels his head swim. Their lips mold and explore each other, and it's unlike the teasing, rushed tempo of their meetings until now. Harry's thighs slot around his, just to get closer, no more spaces between. Their hips meet and Louis' breath stutters, it's like the backseat of his car all over again, but entirely different. His hands rest on the small of Harry's back and the skin there feels as though it's burning him in the sweetest fire he's ever known.

"I think the heating finally kicked in," he breathes when they're apart.

"Think so?" Harry presses a kiss to his jaw. He doesn't want to think about if this is new for both of them, this tenderness. He hasn't had anything close to this.

"I'm sorry," Louis whispers as the slant of Harry's angle causes him to tip his chin back. "For whatever I did, whatever is going on."

Harry's breath is warm over his skin, but his movements slow. "What do you mean?"

"In class today, couldn't even get you to look at me, and with what happened just before I didn't, I don't know if-" Harry's teeth nip at his throat, and it feels like a silencer.

"Wasn't you." Harry sounds sure.

"What about the game tonight though? With the kid from the other team?"

Harry's hands hold his waist and he shakes his head. "That prat followed Aiden out to the bus at our last away game against them, roughed him up for being gay." Louis' chest swells with something like pride, in that Harry takes care of his own. "You're not gonna lecture me on proper sportsmanship, are you?"

"Nah." He's honest. Always honest it seems, with this boy. "I've done worse."

He hears Harry laugh, and it sounds like dawn. Like spring mornings and rain boots in shallow puddles, like something new.

"Louis?" Harry asks, and Louis' smaller hands have trailed up into Harry's curls, pulling loosely.

"Yeah, babe?"

"I really wanna kiss you again."

Louis smiles, because he can't help it, and so Harry does.

It’s a slow burning and if you asked Louis years later he’d say he heard music, like piano chords and violins. Things that make your heart flutter just from how solid sounding they are. He hears them in the back of his mind as Harry’s lips fold over his and they breathe into each other. Louis moves his hips and hears Harry take a small pause and a soft moan. The snow outside and the chill in the air seems distant, and here in the kitchen, with dim light fading between them, they’re immortal.

“Louis, I want–” Harry’s breathless and Louis nips at his lips. Harry takes ahold of his waist and Louis can feel him, he knows isn’t any different. Harry rolls his hips and Louis’ head tips back at the spark of pleasure he gets from it. “I want you to, please.”

Louis breathing is broken, his heartbeat is in his ears. Harry wants him with no more boundaries. He doesn’t want confusion though, doesn’t want to misinterpret anything. So he asks between a kiss. “You want that, with me?”

“Yes, fuck– I’ve wanted you since September.” Harry’s so close and it’s all Louis can do to move his hips in time. “Thought you knew that.”

Louis laughs and it’s light, like faded helium. “Never hurts to make sure.”

“Do you want that though, with me, I mean?” Louis is pecking kisses along his jaw. “Would you, tonight?”

Louis is quiet for a minute, weighing his options, because yes, of course he wants to. But once they step over this line the strings are cut; they’ll be falling with no parachute. “I do, I want you like that, how couldn’t I?”

Harry hesitates. “But?”

“But what will it mean?”

For a moment, there's only the sound of snow. It's a distant reminder that the world is still turning.

“It’ll mean that you’re the only one who’s taken care of me like this before, and I want to share something with you that I haven’t shared with anyone else.” Harry’s quiet towards the end and Louis pulls back to look him in the eyes, speechless, almost.

“You’ve never?”

Harry shakes his head. “No, but I want to, with you.”

Louis just takes it all in, the way Harry’s eyes are almost shying away from him. He’s afraid of rejection, even now. Louis thinks maybe this is what uncovering someone is like, taking off pieces of their armor until you can see all of them. Louis leans up on his tiptoes and kisses him soft, cupping his jaw. “I want you, too.” Harry smiles and laughs breathlessly, shakes his head like it’s a relief, like he can’t believe it. “Do you have anything?”

Harry shrinks a little. “No I– I’ve never, so I don’t.”

Louis shushes him with a kiss. Fuck, when isn’t he kissing him? He doesn’t want to stop anytime soon. “Think I’ve got something in my car, maybe, where’s your room?”

“Upstairs, right hallway, all the way at the end.” Harry’s beaming, bastard knows he’s about to get laid. Louis wants to make this good, wants to make Harry’s first so much better than what his own was. Better than a drunken memory of his birthday.

So he says, “I’ll meet you there.”

***

Louis finds Harry's door fairly easy after he makes his way upstairs. It's halfway open, like an invitation, and there is a sort of soft, lavender light in the air. He shucked off his shoes by the door so his sock clad feet make almost no sound on the hardwood floors.

Harry's room is painted white, with football posters on the walls and thin drapes fluttering by the window. But, of course, the most striking thing in Harry's room is Harry himself.

Louis' eyes settle on him as he moves into the room, he sits with his elbows on his knees at the foot of the bed, he's bare except for his boxers now. He's beautiful.

Harry looks up at Louis' quiet entrance and a curl of nerves washes over him.

"Hi." Harry straightens, and Louis can tell from his voice that he isn't the only one with butterflies.

"Hey," he answers. He comes to stand in front of him. Harry eyes his hands, what it's holding, and reaches out. Louis releases a breathe and hands the lube and condom to him, Harry takes them and sets them on the bedspread gingerely.

"Are you sure?" Louis can't help but ask, feels like he might take more than Harry wants to give. It scares the shit out of him.

Harry stands and rests a gentle touch on his neck, the other on his chest. He leans in and kisses Louis, short and light. "Yes."

And so Harry starts by pushing off his jacket, it slides his shoulders and drops to the floor as Louis reconnects their mouths. His shirt is next and a chill seeps over his skin, only to be replaced by the heat of Harry's fingertips.

Harry's fingers work over the button of his jeans and Louis' stomach tightens. Harry brings them down until he's on his knees and the jeans are at Louis' ankles, so that he's able to step out easily. He steps backwards and kicks them to the side, when he looks back at Harry, he's still on his knees, looking at him with warm eyes. There's a fire behind them, though, and it's a feeling like mittens over frostbitten fingers.

"God, you're gorgeous." Harry's quiet as he stands again, and his mouth twitches after he says it like he's let a secret slip.

Louis flushes and feels the chill leave him for good. He takes a step forward and grabs Harry's right hip, drawing him in and looking up at him. "Are you still sure?"

Harry's hands rest on his lower back, much like minutes ago down in the kitchen, but now Louis can feel how hard he is clear as day. Harry must be able to feel him, too. "How many times do I have to say yes before you stop kissing me like I'm made of glass?"

His voice is soft and Louis loves him like this. Which is, well. "Very poetic."

"You might have to give me extra credit, then."

"Don't push your luck, pal."

Harry shuts him up with a kiss for what feels like the thousandth time that night. Except now, Harry sits back on the bed and cups Louis' jaw, taking him down with him. Harry crawls back, over the covers and up towards the pillows. Louis follows, feeling like he's trying to catch up.

They kiss like that for what feels like hours, ages, with Harry pressed down into the sheets and Louis sitting over his lap. Louis runs his hands over Harry's bare skin and feels him shiver under his hands whenever his touch goes too light, too fleeting. Harry shifts his hips under Louis' bum and Louis breath stutters in Harry's mouth.

"Please." Harry's tugging at his hair.

"Okay, yeah." And it's all he can do to breathe.

He takes the waistband of Harry's shorts between his fingers and slowly draws them off. It's his first look at him like this, all other times before it's only been Louis. So he leans up and kisses reassurence against Harry's jaw as his cock bobs free, letting him know that this is okay, this is better than okay.

"Just, slow okay?" Harry's voice isn't quite a whisper, but his words are like a secret. Only Louis can know.

Louis thinks he might want to be the only one who ever will.

He takes off his own shorts as well, and here they are. There's frost on the window and the night is dark and hostile. But here, in Harry's childhood room, the one where he's spent most of his life, they're warm.

Their eyes take each other in and Louis notices now something he hadn't before, something that makes him forget everything else like a snap of the fingers.

A yellowed bruise spreads itself over the curve of Harry's left hip. It's faint enough to be a trick of light at first glance, but as his eyes take it in he sees that no, it's a hurting mark. His heart races with his mind at the thought that maybe it's because Harry truly _has_ gone this far before, and this could be a momento from that. But the mark is long and thin, about the thickness of three of his fingers together. Not a shape any pair of lips or hands could leave.

"Lou?"

"Harry, what..." His fingers hover over the curve of the muscle, his eyes can't seem to leave where the skin changes color.

"It isn't anything, honestly." Harry registers what he's noticed, taking Louis' trailing hand in both of his own. "Just leave it, okay?"

Louis' gaze finally flickers up to meet his and he asks a question he already knows the answer to. "Did someone hurt you there?"

Harry's quiet for a long moment, and Louis might've gotten to ask more if he'd known to pull back from the touch. But instead Harry leans up and does what he seems to do best, which is to kiss him silent. Louis struggles against his hold, trying to get on the clear track again so he can figure out why his boy is marked with colors that aren't safe. Colors that tell of a beating. Because he knows that's what it is. He heard Liam's voice for himself.

But now Harry is grinding their hips together and their cocks brush. Louis knows he can either push the subject and have Harry box him out for good, or he can show him how much he deserves to be loved.

He chooses the option that keeps Harry's heart open.

"Lie back for me, sweetheart."

Harry breathes against his lips, a nervous sound, but he nods and follows through. Louis takes the lube from where it'd been discarded on the bed earlier and fights the tug in his heart when the boys shifts his weight to accomodate his side. It takes everything in him not to ask, not to solidify what he's sure is true.

Louis goes slow. Not only because Harry asked him to, but because that's the only way he knows right now. Everything's slow in his mind. The way the gold of Harry's football medals reflects the faint light of the room. The way the snow melts and clings to the window, seeking solace in a killing heat. The way Louis' fingers work up from one to three and Harry breathes his name like a prayer.

Harry's new, in every sense of the word. He's new to being taken apart like this, because he's only ever given other boys hints at the real thing. He's never been opened and exposed to the full extent like this. Louis kisses the insides of his thighs, murmering praise as Harry's muscles quiver like a storm.

"I'm good, Louis, please," he begs, and it's quiet still.

"You're doing so well." Louis kisses him once, twice, and rests their foreheads together. He draws out his fingers and his hands are shaking slightly. He pulls on a condom and draws himself over Harry's frame, until they're close again and the air in between is heavy.

"Ready?" he asks, and Harry nods, biting his lip.

The glide is slow when he pushes in, because Louis knows it'll hurt to some degree. The first time always does. Harry's lips are parted and his eyes are closed as he arches a little into the feeling of it.

"Oh my god." Louis isn't sure which of them says it but the words are smudged, sounding like he's underwater. Louis fits into him fully, and the lines of their bodies tangle and weave together like the pages of a book, one leading into another. His hands are on the backs of Harry's thighs near his bum, he holds him up like something fragile.

This right here, is closest he's ever felt to weightless.

"You can move." Harry's eyes are open and his cheeks are pink with rose. "Please move, I'm dying here."

Louis rocks his hips once, hesitant even though his body is screaming for him to cut the ropes because Harry is so, so perfect around him. Harry breathes out like he's been holding it in his lungs for far too long. Louis lets himself fall onto his elbows so that his face is hanging just over Harry’s, and he draws out again to move back in.

They move together like the northern sea, deep and crashing. Harry's so lovely like this, young and fit. He's breathtaking with every one of Louis' movements, small noises escaping his bow lips. Mostly it's Louis' name, over and over again, like he's afraid for it to slip away.

Louis isn't too silent, either.

"You're so beautiful, Haz, look at you."

"You're tight, babe, you're so perfect."

"I've got you, come on. I've got you."

They work up a rhythm, and Louis finds the spot within Harry that makes his toes curl. Their slow pace picks up and Louis knows.

"Louis I want, wanna come together, can we?" Harry asks between breaths.

"Yes god, Harry," Louis takes Harry's legs up onto his shoulders and Harry crosses his ankles around the back of his neck, secure.

"You can take me fast, I wanna feel you fast," Harry's blush has spread down to his chest.

"You're sure?"

"Yes, fuck Louis, I wanna come just from you." And it's now at this point that Louis realizes that Harry's fists are balled in his sheets, he hasn't touched himself once. That alone sends his hips into a stutter.

Harry cants his hips in time with Louis' thrusts and Louis leans down to kiss him. Their mouths work together and it's slick and loud, like the headboard against the wall. A steady beat.

"Harry I-"

"Me too, fuck come on-"

Louis takes ahold of his waist and finds Harry's prostate for the second time. Their lips mold together and Harry moans into him. Louis can feel him beginning to shake and shit, they're falling and flying all in one.

"Louis, I love-"

But Harry's words are lost as Louis feels him clench tight around him and loses himself, the blur of Harry everywhere as he comes so hard he sees stars. Or maybe it's snow.

Harry gasps at the feeling and follows only seconds after, hard, flushed cock streaking white up his chest.

Breathing is a skill not lost, but relearned, and they do so together. The lines of their frames stay slotted until Harry purses his lips in a pucker, a tired but wanting gesture. Louis kisses him sweet and long as he pulls out. Harry makes a soft noise at the loss.

He cleans up after them as Harry lies boneless and weighted in the sheets. When he comes back to the side of the bed, he's gathered his clothes into a heap in his arms. He leans down to press a kiss to Harry's forehead and feels the cooling skin, hears a happy sigh.

"Thank you." The sleepy voice says with eyes closed. "Not just for this, but for everything." Louis moves to stand back up, but Harry's eyes open and they're pleading. "Will you stay?"

Louis can only think to say what he means. He doesn't think Harry will ever have to ask him twice. "Only if you'll let me."

So Harry opens his arms and Louis drops his clothes, climbing into something much warmer. Louis is tucked into Harry and really, when did he become the one who needed the other to feel safe?

"G'night, Lou." The words are light against his ear.

"Sweet dreams, love."

There's hail against the rooftop, a soft pitter patter. And Louis thinks maybe it's possible that right here, with a boy he's beginning to call his own, he truly is weightless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my apologies for any slip ups regarding the technicalities of the football match! (i'm still learning!) as always, you can find us at loverlouis & eroticlou on tumblr ♡♡


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All I can say for myself is: _finally!_ and _i'm sorry_. So yes this chapter is about ten years late and I'm so, so sorry about that. I really hope the 6.5k makes up for it and that you guys enjoy it! I love you all so much for reading, and sorry about the wait at the end of the last chapter!

Louis wakes up to a weight on his chest and walls that aren’t the color of his room. It’s the posters and textbooks stacked on the desk that makes him register that he’s indeed not home, but in Harry’s bedroom, and the weight on his chest is Harry’s head that’s rising and falling gently with Louis’ own breathing. He studies the walls for a little while longer – how the corner of the Arctic Monkeys poster is torn off and how the Man U one is a little bit crooked. But Harry’s drawing him in more – the shadow of his eyelashes against his cheeks, the bow of his pink lips, the purple mark right at the corner of jaw that Louis must have left there last night while being reckless and completely and utterly beside himself with enchantment for this boy. He’s too fond already, he knows.  

There’s snow on the windowsill. It must have turned back from hail last night. He wants to see how much fell, but he doesn’t want to wake Harry or separate from his warmth at all, for that matter. The alarm clock on the night table to his left tells him that it’s only a bit past nine, but the light from the snow is making it bright, and Harry is too, next to him. He’s so bright. And his stupid mind is telling him that he’s too young to be getting hurt however he is, and in his sleep he looks so much younger, so much more fragile in a state with no charm nor cheek. His lips are barely parted, with no retort on his lips, and it makes Louis wonder how anyone could ever mar a boy with so much beauty left in his young life. 

He’s impatient though, no matter the early hour. He presses his longing lips to the slaking skin of Harry’s forehead, letting them trail into his hair. His fingers run up and down the veins that stand stark on Harry’s hand, watching his eyes shift as they’re closed only to open and meet with Louis’. To be able to see the soft, sleepy smile that spreads across his face sends a strange, fond curling into Louis’s stomach. 

His voice is extra scratchy when he says, “Morning, Lou.” 

Louis smooths a gentle hand over his forehead before kissing it. “Morning. How do you feel?”

“Good,” Harry says. “Great, actually. A new man.”

Louis flicks his shoulder but laughs lightly, despite himself. Harry sits up and off his chest, but immediately curls into Louis’ side, like this isn’t new. It feels almost too natural, but it doesn’t stop Louis from squeezing Harry’s hand when he laces their fingers together. 

“You sleep all right?” Harry asks him, lips pressed to Louis’ collarbone. 

“Like a rock.” Louis pauses. “Although, I’ve never really liked that expression because rocks don’t even sleep at all, so.”

Harry giggles, and Louis gets those stupid butterflies in his stomach. He feels eighteen again, young and naive but so blissful. “I suppose they don’t,” Harry murmurs. “Do y’want breakfast?”

“Trying to charm me with your cereal selection?” 

Harry gasps and sits away from Louis, properly scandalized. “You crush my poor, boyish heart, Louis. I was about to offer you a real English fry up, but now that you’ve battered my ego so much, I’m not sure I want to make it.”

Louis narrows his eyes but decides to play along, shifting under the duvet and throwing a leg over Harry’s lap. He pushes him back into the pillows, eyes tracing over his face as he rubs their cheeks together. “Oh Harry, won’t you please make me breakfast? I need fuel to keep up my stamina.”

Harry stumbles over his words. “Are you nuzzling me?”

Louis stops moving. “If you want to call it that.”

“Is this how you show affection?” 

Louis chuckles, pressing his mouth on the other side of Harry’s jaw in hopes to make a mark matching the one on the left. He bites down. “I think you know how I show affection.”

Harry’s a bit pink. 

“We can go downstairs. How do you take your eggs?”

“I’m not picky.” He kisses down Harry’s neck, fingers trailing up and down his sides. He gets distracted by the smooth spot at the dip of Harry’s collarbones, so he just stays there, lips pressed down but unmoving, breathing him in and wondering what exactly they’re playing at. It’s times like these where he wished there _was_ a handbook, because he doesn’t know at all what he should and shouldn’t be doing, and when Harry says his name to get his attention, all he can hear is his voice last night. Skin was on skin, bated breath was on each other’s shoulders, and Harry had said, “Louis, I love–”

And Louis knows if there _was_ a handbook, the word love certainly would not be in it. 

He decides not to bring it up yet, too caught up in this haven of warmth on a winter’s day so cold. 

“We getting up?” Harry asks. 

“Yeah, sorry,” Louis mutters. 

Harry laughs as Louis peels himself off of him, cheeks pink again. “Don’t apologize. I’m not like, complaining.”

Louis laughs too, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and grabbing his pants from the floor, slipping them on but shivering with no duvet and no Harry. The heat of the house doesn’t quite match the one of a bed. He looks down at his jeans and scowls. 

“Have you got any clothes I could borrow, maybe?” Louis asks, a little bit meek because this is his 17-year-old student who’s just a tad bigger than him. 

Harry smirks, walking starkers across his room to the dresser. He pulls on pants for himself, and says, “Sure. Grew out of these last year.” Harry throws a pair of sweatpants at Louis before he pulls on his own, and Louis scowls. 

“I’m not that much smaller than you, honestly.”

“I know,” Harry says, pulling a crew neck over his head. “But you always have your ankles showing anyway, so I figured.”

Louis scowls again but accepts the big jumper that Harry chucks him gratefully, pulling the sleeves over his hands and breathing in the smell of this boy who likes too much. He dresses quickly, following Harry out of the room that feels so soft and already has too many memories back into the kitchen. The mug of milk from last night still sits on the counter from when Harry had burned himself, and Louis laughs when he sees it. 

“You never did make me hot chocolate,” he chuckles. 

“Would you care for some?” Harry asks, pouring the milk that’s been sitting out down the sink. 

“I think I would,” Louis says, trotting over to the window and peering at the snow that’s still falling lightly. There has to be at least 25 centimeters on the ground. “I feel like it suits the mood. And the weather.”

Louis watches the small smile that settles over Harry’s face as he reaches into the fridge to grab the milk carton. He pulls mugs from a cabinet, and Louis is feeling a bit cheeky so he says, “Be careful, love. Wouldn’t want to burn yourself again.”

Harry pouts for just a second before retorting, “I don’t know, Lou. I kind of like where that led.”

“You won’t have to burn yourself to do that again,” Louis says, and well. He’s getting a little bit ahead of himself, but Harry’s blushing and grinning so it’s really quite all right. Louis’ feet are cold on the tile of the kitchen, so he sits at the counter and watches him prepare cocoa and shuffle about. The snow in the trees is soft like the curling that settles itself in Louis’ stomach – dim, but present. He traces the pattern in the marble, but is soon distracted by Harry coming around to his side of the countertop and placing a mug in front of him, their bodies pressed together for a moment. 

And looking at him, Louis is so overwhelmed, like the feeling when you’re swimming the ocean and there’s a sudden wave that sweeps you off your feet and tumbles you and tumbles you in the churning of its retreat. He has to kiss him; it inundates him, a triumph over his cloudy mind. It’s like reason is lost as Harry lets out a muffled sound against his lips. He grips Louis’ bicep that’s turning his body, and Louis holds his waist and cups his cheek, keeping him so much closer for these reasons that he can’t explain. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t know when he’ll get to do this again, or because he knows that someone’s hurting Harry, or because he knows that his heart is in this more than it should be. 

Harry hums a pleased tune when he pulls back, cheeks ruddy and lips a matching pink. “You’ve been quite... loving this morning,” he mutters, not meeting Louis’ eye, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to say that word. 

Louis doesn’t know if he’s allowed to say that word either. 

“Ah, well,” Louis lets out. He doesn’t know if this is the time he should bring up Harry’s slip up from last night. His eyes are so bright and pleased, and Louis really doesn’t want to take that light away. He doesn’t let himself. “It won’t carry on if you don’t get to work on that fry up you promised me.”

Harry laughs and kisses his cheek, running a hand on the inside of Louis’ wrist before retreating to the fridge to pull out some eggs. He’s lax while he cooks, moving around the kitchen fluidly but staying in silence. Louis just watches him in silence, not letting himself think. He merely admires Harry’s strong shoulders as he cracks eggs and makes toast, and it’s a nice kind of quiet; the kind he would get if he were to stand outside in the snow right now – beautifully and blissfully mute. 

When Harry presents Louis with a plate and his cute bum next to him, Louis lets a silly grin spread across his face and says, “Thanks, love. Looks wonderful.”

“Well, let me know if it passes the test.” Harry sticks a fork in his eggs. 

“I’m sure it will,” Louis murmurs, kissing his cheek in thanks and placing his hand on his thigh merely because he can. They eat in another comfortable silence, and once their plates are clear, Louis draws circles on Harry’s leg and asks, “Do y’want me to stay longer?” He looks at the clock on the microwave. It’s nearing quarter past ten. 

Harry looks down at the crumbs of his toast. “Will you?”

Louis nudges his chin up. “As long as you want me here. I’m not in a rush. This has been really lovely, okay?”

“I just don’t want you to feel like you have to be here still.”

Something funny makes Louis’ core tie itself into a bow, and he takes a breath that he hopes doesn’t sound too labored. He’s not. He wants to be here. Perhaps that’s his problem. “If I didn’t want to be here, I would’ve left already. If I didn’t want any of this to keep happening, I would’ve stopped it by now.” 

Harry nods; Louis pecks him once, resting their foreheads together until their eyes are straining to look at each other, and Harry is giggling with his effort. “You wanna watch a movie?” 

Louis looks into his eyes that could color a sea, and he says, “I think I’d rather go back to bed, actually?”

Harry’s licks his lips in response, fingers folding in his lap. He stares at the place where Louis’ hand is still curled around his thigh. “Oh, I. Okay.”

“You’re all right?” 

“Yeah, um. Never better, honestly.”

Louis smiles and pushes his hair out of his eyes, getting out of his seat and looking at Harry, asking with his eyes for him to lead the way upstairs. They’re hurried as they pace their way through the empty, quiet house, breaths a little bated, hearts a little quickened. Once in Harry’s bedroom, Louis shucks off his shirt right away, craving the softness of Harry’s duvet and the warmth that it held this morning, too many feelings and so much desire. 

Harry does the same, following Louis under the covers and pressing his warm skin into Louis’ side. Immediately, Louis goes for Harry’s neck, leaving fleeting kisses on his shoulder and collarbones, nosing into his scent. “What do you want, love? It’s up to you right now.”

Harry’s eyelashes flutter against his cheeks as he thinks, fingers curling in the sheets and swirling a hurricane in folds of fabric. “Your mouth, maybe?”

Louis’ expression goes a bit confused, but he smooths a hand across the lowest part of Harry’s belly. “What, like a blow job?”

Harry goes a little stiff when he doesn’t get it straight away. His hurricane of sheets grows bigger as his grip grows tighter. “No like... like–”

Louis’s dragging his lips above his pec when it registers, and he breathes, “Oh.”

“Is that okay?” Harry asks, a little sheepish. His expression that's usually so bold and cheeky lacks its usual smirk. “I know that, like, not everyone does that. But I've thought about it a lot. And with you, like. I think about it with you a lot. Everything with you.”

Louis' breath hitches in his throat - getting carried away with just the thought of it. He wants to make him fall apart just as badly as he wants to piece his broken parts back together.

"No, don't- don't sell yourself short. I want to, H. You want me to eat you out?" 

Louis’ mouth is still roaming along Harry's skin, finding a spot on Harry's neck and just staying there, breathing. Harry transforms from his 17-year-old student who makes him feel the guilt that burns into his chest and turns into someone who he wants -–and who he wants to be with. 

“Please,” Harry whispers. “I want it so bad.”

“I can kiss you first?” Louis murmurs, and Harry basically yanks them together, fingers curling into Louis' hair at the nape of his neck and having their mouths meet in a messy kiss. It's moments like these where Louis forgets. This is the longest he's been with Harry, and a period of time that's so extended makes the things outside of Harry's quiet house dissipate, like the cloud of his breath in the cold winter air. Louis shifts from at his side to on top of him, hips not exactly aligned and duvet falling from Louis’ waist. 

“You clean, love?”

He can feel Harry's heartbeat in his chest; how fast it's racing makes Louis’ want to compete. 

"Yeah, I, um. I take time in the shower, like yesterday, after the game everyone had gone. I just think about it a lot. Thought about you then, too.”

The fact that Harry thinks about Louis eating him out a lot. Well. That just does it for him. He slots their hips better together, grinding down a bit as he kisses him again, pulling back to whisper in his ear, “You're really fucking hot, babe. So you know.” Harry preens beneath him and reaches toward the waistband of Louis’ sweats. 

They’re bodies are fluid in a silent movement just as the snow falls, Louis undressing them both and letting skin touch skin, Harry pale from the winter months, but sleek; his contours and crooks are ones that Louis wants to know like the sea knows its beautiful shore. He leaves snowflake kisses on Harry’s warm body, each unique as they melt into him. 

He does use his mouth right away, but not in the place Harry wants him. He takes the head of Harry’s hard cock, curving up toward his belly, and sucks the head into his mouth. He takes his time, and this feels like a balance of every moment between them – neither the easy, even tide of their bodies as they worked together as one last night nor the hasty current that drags them through rushed blow jobs and rutting against each other. 

“Louis,” Harry whines. “Please?”

Louis can pity him, a little. His cock is blurting precome into his mouth and knowing that he wants it so much – that he _thinks_ about it so much is what makes Louis pull off and run a hand over the softest part of his thighs. “Turn over for then, love.” Louis trails his fingers over his bum, uses his thumbs to spread him out a bit, and licks a broad stripe over his hole. Harry’s muscles contract and release, and he lets out a breathy noise through his nose. “Tell me if you don’t end up liking it, yeah? Just make sure it’s good.”

“It’s so good already, Lou. Shit.”

Green light, then. 

He curls his hands around Harry’s hips and thumbs into his hipbones, licking again with soft movements, starting slowly. Harry is already trembling a little beneath him, and Louis kisses the lower part of his spine before pointing his tongue, licking over him again and again. He’s still a little bit loose from the night before. And just as Louis thinks about fucking him all over again, he hears a sob from beneath him and draws back. 

“Don’t stop, Lou, please,” Harry says. “M’just. Overwhelmed. Please don’t stop.” 

“As long as you’re all right,” Louis murmurs, lips pressed to the skin of Harry’s lower back. 

“Just–”

Louis shushes him quietly, taking one of his hands off of Harry’s hip and brushing it against his rim as he licks around it, and Harry lets out the prettiest noise before collapsing onto his forearms. Louis feels Harry rocking back onto him almost involuntarily, swirling his tongue over Harry’s hole and fingering him. 

“Almost there, love?”

“Oh, god,” Harry whimpers. “Fuck– I love this, I love you. I’m gonna come, Lou.”

“Go on then, baby,” Louis says, easing his finger out him, but licking over him again. Harry comes with a little noise, and Louis grips his hips as he shakes through it. Harry rolls over onto his back away from where he made a mess of his sheets and stares up at Louis with green eyes overtaken by black, a pond at night. “Y’all right then?”

“Perfect,” Harry breathes. “Should I?”

He sits up and glances at Louis’ hard cock, curved up to his belly. Louis kisses Harry with red lips and pushes him gently back into the pillows. “I’ve got it, yeah?”

Harry nods and settles into his spot on the bed, watching Louis straddle his thighs and take his cock in his hand. He wanks off quickly, thumb playing with the head of his cock, and free hand rubbing up and down Harry’s chest. He flicks Harry’s hard nipples and rocks up into his own fist. He bites his lip as he comes onto Harry’s tummy, a little breathless and only letting the smallest of noises slip past his lips. 

“That was hot,” Harry croaks after Louis’s crawled off of him. 

“Glad you think so, love.” 

He uses tissues to wipe up Harry’s torso and haphazardly wipe the sheets. Harry smiles sleepily before saying, “Thanks,” and then closing his eyes as he rests his head on Louis’ chest. 

* * * 

H arry falls asleep against his chest for twenty minutes after he comes down, head heavy on Louis' body but a comforting constant, like knowing there's hot tea inside on a cold day, or the same hug that's kept you warm for years. The only sound that fills the room is his breathing that grows lighter as he drifts deeper into sleep and the rustle of the blanket when either of them move

The silence gives Louis time to think. Perhaps too much time. Harry's said that he loves him twice; and maybe Louis is reading too much into it because the first time he was fucking him and the second time he licking him out. But something about the way Harry looks at him makes butterflies kiss in his stomach, and he wonders if it's him who's doing the loving. But they’re both falling a little in love by now, aren’t they?

When that word came into his mind he doesn't know, but smoothing back Harry's soft (and a bit sweaty) hair makes him wonder when he's going to let it slip. It's terrifying in a beautiful way. 

He finds Harry's hand atop the duvet and links their fingers together, watching Harry sleep and new flakes begin to fall as they work with the old to form a cold blanket of winter's own version of sun. 

  * * *



Harry doesn't sleep for long, but when he wakes up, his hair is sticking up in the back and he's got this sleepy soft smile on. So yeah, Louis might love him a little bit. He sits up to look at Louis but immediately flops back down onto his chest, heaving a big breath and pushing his face into Louis' neck. 

“How long was I out?” he asks quietly, voice gravelly. 

“Not long, maybe twenty minutes,” Louis responds. 

“Did you sleep at all?”

Louis shakes his head. “Just had a bit of a think. It was nice. It's snowing again.”

“Maybe we'll get snowed in and my parents will get snowed out, so we can just stay here.”

Harry laughs warmly and Louis is overwhelmed with how fond he is of him. He kisses his head and says, “Now wouldn't _that_ be nice.”

“It would.”

“Wanna know what else sounds nice right now? A shower.”

Harry laughs again and stretches his arms high above his head. “I've also really got to wee. Toilet's right there.” He points at the door right outside of his bedroom. “Meet me in a minute?”

Louis nods and lets warm Harry leave his side and trod off – naked – to this bathroom. Louis watches his little bum as he goes into the hall. He slides down further into the sheets and throws the duvet over his shoulders. It smells like sex and Harry, and that shouldn’t be so comforting. He lays there for too long and soon enough Harry is poking his head out of the bathroom door. 

“Coming, Lou?” he asks. 

Louis shakes himself out of his reverie and heaves himself out of bed, walking into the bathroom to see Harry leaning against the sink and the shower already curling steam into the air. “S’gonna feel nice,” Louis sighs. 

“You feel nice,” Harry mutters, putting his wide palms on Louis’ waist. 

Louis snorts but kisses his cheek, taking his hand and pulling him into the shower. He closes his eyes as soon as the water hits his skin. The heat of the water sends armies of goosebumps charging up his arms, like when Harry kissed him in the coldness of his kitchen, dynamic so new and unfamiliar. How they’ve grown so much in less than a day he can’t explain. His hair is drenched after just a few seconds. Harry stays close to him with an expression on his face that Louis doesn’t know how to decipher. 

“What is it, love?” Louis asks, running a hand down the slope of his slick shoulder. He thumbs at the inside of his bicep. 

Harry asks, “Could you wash my hair?” He’s meek and blushing, and the steam of the shower is shrouding them in a gentle, warming mist. 

He glances down at Harry’s body. This is the clearest he’s seen him. There are no hazy minds or dim lighting; it’s just the two of them in a warm heat that brings back the sunshine loving in his stomach. Water clings to him like raindrops to windowpanes, running down him in rivers. His stomach is smooth and lightly toned; his collarbones jut and curve like slides; his legs are strong and thin. He is so beautiful. 

But there are bruises that he didn’t pay close enough attention to. The one on his hip is fading, but another is on his left side, and fingerprints on his bicep, right beneath where his fingers where trailing a moment ago. He reaches out to touch Harry’s waist and curls his free hand in Harry’s dripping hair. 

Louis drops a kiss to his neck. “Course,” he says, and Harry relaxes. He knows why Harry was so tense but all the while wishes he didn’t have to be. They’ve been playing at this for too long to not feel at least a little bit comfortable. He’s gotten to know Harry in not only touches and rushed meetings, but in his answers during class and the way he writes in his journal. It’s become more than just something they need to bolt through; they’ve come too far, and Louis has admired for too long. It’s not child’s play anymore. 

Harry’s incandescent, and Louis captivated. There’s no way he could run from this _thing_ that they’ve built between them now. He cares too much for that. They’re the man who tightroped across the Grand Canyon; more concerned with the elation on the other side to fret over the dangers beneath them. It’s rash and reckless, but somehow worth it, and Louis feels it when he reaches for Harry’s shoulder to kiss him, their wet bodies slick against each other and lips meeting in a messy snog. 

_You doubt yourself too much,_ Louis wants to say. _I’m still here and I’m not going anywhere._

Instead, he picks up Harry’s shampoo when he pulls back, squirting some into his hands and lathering it into Harry’s hair.  Louis remembers the way he’d reacted while sucking Louis off, preening when he’d pull on his curls, eyes widening. He doesn’t tug this time, though, just rubs at his scalp and runs the suds through his hair. He whimpers a little as Louis works his fingers along his head, and by the time Louis’s given him a good scrub, he’s a cute, white, bubbly mess. He takes his time with the conditioner, and washes his own hair as Harry rinses, watching as squirts soap onto a loofah and proceeds to glide it down Louis’ back. 

Louis shoots him a playful look as he gets the shampoo and conditioner out of his hair before letting Harry wash him. By the time he’s getting around to washing Harry down, Harry’s cock is hard against his stomach, and Louis laughs a little. 

“You’ve got more stamina than me, love.” He runs a finger along the head of it. Harry shudders beneath the warmth of the shower. 

“You’re not that old; although, like,  I _am_ in my prime.” Louis snorts but continues to run his hands and the sponge along Harry’s body. 

“Not that old,” Louis mutters, repeating Harry’s words. “Arse.”

“You seem to have taken a liking to my arse, mate.”

Louis hates when he gets witty. 

“I’m your mate now?”

“I guess in a sense of the word?” There’s a pause. “Anyway, did you know that lobsters mate for life?”

“You’re just full of facts.”

Louis runs his hands down his bum, one finger running over his hole and feeling him stiffen at the touch. “Among other things,” Harry mutters, breath hitching. 

“Not just yet, Curly.” He kisses along Harry’s jaw just be a tease, but finishes washing himself up before leaving Harry standing under the spray. 

Who’s the smart ass now?

***

“D’you wanna do lunch?” Harry asks once they’re dry and clothed. 

“Gonna cook for me proper again?” Louis teases, sprawling out on the bed. 

“If you want. Or we could order Chinese.”

Louis sits up to peer out the window and sees the streets blanketed in snow. “Would they deliver in this weather?”

Harry frowns. “I have mac and cheese?” 

“My kinda boy,” Louis mutters, standing and clapping Harry on the shoulder, smirking internally at Harry’s cute little blush. “You’ve still got to make it though.”

“Are you saying that you don’t know how to make mac and cheese?” Harry teases, letting his fingers brush against Louis’ and walking out of his room. 

“No,” Louis begins, taking Harry’s hand in his, “I would just rather have you do it for me.”

“So you can’t make mac and cheese,” Harry deadpans. 

“I didn’t say that!” Louis argues. “I’m just saying, like, there are two benefits in this. A) I don’t have to do anything in order to get food, and B) it will definitely taste better if you do it.” Harry raises his eyebrows. “Like when your mum makes you a sandwich! It always tastes better if your mum makes it.”

“Are you calling me your mum?” Harry asks. 

Louis scrubs a hand down his face. “Just make me some Kraft, slave.” 

Harry laughs at him but pulls out a stool at the counter for Louis to sit on as he rummages through his cabinet for a box of mac and cheese. Louis merely watches him prepare a pot to boil the water, swinging his feet in the air form the height of the chair. Once the water’s warming, Harry comes and sits next to Louis, drumming his fingers on the marble of the counter. 

“You all right?” Louis asks him, pushing a hand through Harry’s drying hair. It’s starting to curl around his ears and at the nape of his neck.

“Yeah,” Harry says. “Yeah, m’good.” He yawns before laughing. “Maybe a bit tired, though.”

Louis pets his head. “Gonna need another power nap, baby?”

He watches Harry flush a little bit at Louis’ pet name. 

“Maybe. You’ll lay with me after lunch?”

“Naps post-lunch; I’ll really feel old.” Harry pokes his leg. Louis thinks about something that’s been darting in and out of his mind before he could grasp it. He furrows his brow in thought. “I was supposed to do lesson plans this weekend, but fuck it, I'd say. It's nearly Christmas. I suppose I’ll just assign you guys journals and write them up during class.” 

Maybe he wasn't supposed to bring up school, because that manages to snap Harry back a little bit more to reality. “Right, um. You’ll let me know on Monday then, yeah?” His tone is awkward and more delayed than usual. 

“Yeah, um. That’s where things happen, in school.” Louis is eloquent. 

“Maybe it should be me asking if you’re all right,” Harry chuckles, grasping onto a subject change like it’s a water bottle after a run. 

Louis scowls and rolls his eyes. “You’re all about making digs at me, aren’t ya, love?”

“You’ve just been giving me all of these opportunities,” Harry sighs sarcastically. Asshole. 

“You’re a much easier target than I am,” Louis retorts. “You and I know that.” 

“Maybe,” Harry says. “Maybe.” 

“No, definitely. Now point me to the toilet down here so I can piss.”

Harry snorts but points to a door down the hallway. Louis wees in silence but hopes that by some magical force by the time he gets out of the bathroom the mac and cheese is finished, and he has some sort of brilliant idea on how to begin a conversation that manages to get through the topics of both Harry’s love and his bruises. Unfortunately, as an English teacher for 17- and 18-year-olds, he’s just not that ingenious. 

He takes his time in the bathroom. The mirror shows his reflection; he splashes water on his face, and well, he looks okay. There’s a hickey under his collarbone that he sees from the sweater dipping too low. His hair is nearly dry, but he knows Harry will mess it up. He doesn’t know when this information became something he just _knew;_ it’s like suddenly being able to sing the words back to a song. It just _happens._ His expression is bright, lips are pink, and for the first time in a long time, the deep pools of midnight purple aren’t gathering under his eyes. 

He thinks about the snow outside and the feeling in his chest that’s got him constricted from both ends, a Chinese finger trap. He leaves the toilet. 

Harry gives him a soft smile when he pads back into the kitchen. “Pasta’s in now. Shouldn’t be long. Wanna put on the telly?”

“Okay,” Louis says. 

He turns on the t.v. in the living room that connects to the open kitchen. He flicks through channels; Spongebob is on, so naturally, they watch Spongebob. Harry curls into Louis’ side, and Louis pets at him aimlessly. They don’t really talk, but chuckle now and then when something’s kind of funny. Louis just keeps thinking and thinking and thinking and rubbing along Harry’s shoulder and back of his neck. He’s a clock ticking, going from one thing to the next. 

It feels like quicksand time, but eventually the t.v. is off again, and they sit at the counter instead of the couch. They eat mac and cheese, and it’s making Louis uncomfortable that the only sound that fills the room is the clinking of their forks against the porcelain. He can feel Harry’s eyes on him, but he can’t get his brain to tell his mouth how to form words. 

Harry breaks the silence. “I love your eyelashes.” Louis doesn’t say anything. “Sorry,” Harry sighs. “That might’ve sounded weird.”

“Hey, H. Don’t be sorry, okay?” He takes a breath because he’s doing this. “Maybe we should talk about that, yeah?” Harry blanches, but Louis pushes his bowl away from him and takes Harry’s hand. 

“I– um,” Harry mutters. “I know that I–”

Louis runs a finger along Harry’s knuckles and notes the way Harry isn’t meeting his eyes. “Can I say something first?”

Harry squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, but nods after a breath. “Yeah, um. Go ‘head.”

“I know that, like. When we’ve had sex, um, two of the times it’s been, I think? That you said – you said you love me, and I just. It’s kept me wound up a little bit? I feel like we’ve been playing this _game,_ or something–”

Harry looks pained behind the poorly-executed mask he’s put up. He bites his finger. “It doesn’t feel like a game to me,” he snaps, and this is hard for Louis, because Harry can’t tell where he’s going with this, like an empty road at night – there’s only what’s right in front of you.  Sometimes Louis wishes he didn’t have to feel. 

“That’s not– it doesn’t anymore, is what I’m trying to say. It doesn’t feel like a game anymore. It doesn’t feel like we have any rules to play by, that’s what I’m trying to explain.”

Harry’s still guarded, and Louis can see it. “But does that– does it bother you? Does it bother you that I, um, love you, I guess. Sorry.”

Louis threads their fingers together and uses his free hand to tear Harry’s finger away from his mouth. “Don’t be sorry, Harry. Love isn’t something you can control, and I’ve learned that there’s definitely no handbook. So it’s okay. I’m not bothered at all.”

Harry looks at him with an expression that’s a cross between adorably expectant and quietly nervous. 

“And maybe I might love you a little bit,” Louis lets out.

Harry knows him well enough to read between the lines. “A little bit?” He gasps in what  comes across as a bad attempt at sarcasm. 

“Yeah, just a bit,” Louis sighs. 

Harry gives him a frown but kisses him anyway. It’s sweet, like sunshine honey, and when Harry pulls back first his face holds a goofy grin that rocks Louis to the very core of his soul. It’s warming and blessedly not worrying. “You’re lovely,” Louis murmurs.

“You’re lovelier,” Harry counters, and Louis pokes Harry’s cheek and shakes his head. When Harry’s smile dissipates and he starts to rub his arm, Louis cocks his head. 

“What is it?” Louis asks. 

“I was just kind of thinking about how, like, when I first said that I, um, love you, when we had sex last night you pointed out my bruises. I really avoided the subject, and I just wanted to tell you... about that. It’s not nothing, I suppose. My dad, um. He hurts me sometimes? It’s mostly verbal though. He doesn’t really like what I have to say, or what I do, or _who_ I do, I guess.”

Louis is utterly nonplussed. He’s ashamed of it, but the first thing that comes out of his mouth is, “Does he know about us?” 

Harry winces. “No. I meant it as a more general thing – that I’m gay.”

In any other circumstance, Louis would have filled with sweet relief, but the overwhelming factor that Harry’s father is _abusing_ him still remains. He stands and yanks Harry up for a hug. “You’re okay, right? Right now.”

Harry laughs a little wetly into the shoulder of his jumper. “Yeah, I’m fine. My bum hurts a bit, though.”

Louis flicks his arm. “What are we gonna do?”

“At this point, nothing. You’re the only one I’ve told aside from Liam.”

“We can’t just do nothing,” Louis says, frowning. Harry steps back from the hug to sit down in his chair again. He folds his arm across his chest in an attempt to send his guards back out. 

“I’ve been doing nothing for nearly a year,” Harry argues. “It’s never– it’s never _that_ bad. I see someone, like. My dad forces me to go to counseling because I’m gay and open about it. He doesn’t really know how to channel his frustrations into something healthy. We’re pretty well off financially, but like, he tries to make up for forcing heterosexuality onto me by buying me things.”

Louis’ brow furrows as he thinks back to the time when Harry lied about going to the doctors. It had to be a lie, didn’t it? “Was that– were your cleats one of the things he bought you? I saw them in the garbage after I ran into you on the pitch.”

Harry lets a little smile play on his lips. “You remember that?”

Louis tsks. “Harold. That plagued me for _nights._ ” 

“Is it bad that I find that a little endearing?” Harry says, sniggering. 

Louis flicks him again. “Don’t get me started on endearing.” He heaves a heavy sigh before pressing his lips to Harry’s forehead. “I can’t just– I can’t just let this go.”

“Can’t we for now? Just for today?” Harry’s eyes are as wide as the moon and just as bright. “I want to stay like this for as long as I can. He’s not home until Sunday evening.”

Something inside of Louis’ gut twists, and he’s not sure if it’s anxiety or admiration. He’s so fond of this kid; it’s killing him. “Can I interest you in a post-lunch nap?” 

Harry grins the December’s sun at him, and that’s what tells him that no man could break this boy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooo I hope you enjoyed! Kudos and comments make our days!  
> Emilie: @androgynouslou on twitter and gingersnaplou on tumblr  
> Kenzie: @stagtattoo on twitter and tummyhand on tumblr  
> Thank you so much for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy spring everyone! Hope you’re all doing well and enjoying the (albeit weak) sunshine!

Louis stops at the intersection of East Apple and Alice, looking up at the street light as snow sticks to the glass in heavy clumps and his windshield wipers work furiously to keep up.

Red light, stop. Pause.

_“I’ve been doing nothing for nearly a year.”_

Seconds tick by like clockwork as the snow falls fills the silence all around him. There are a few people out braving the weather, a mother with her child all bundled up in a purple down coat. A man unsuccessfully trying to open an umbrella.

_“You remember that?”_

Of course he remembers, how couldn’t he?

_“I want to stay like this for as long as I can.”_

Red changes to green, foot off the brake.

He chews his bottom lip between his teeth, and tastes a bit of blood under the winter chapped skin. He rolls the sleeves of his sweater - _Harry’s_ sweater - over his hands and sinks a bit lower in the driver’s seat, taking the speed limit as it is for once.

He takes minute to be grateful that his fingers don’t have to go cold for now. Seeing as how he’d left his coat in the car while he’d spent the night, all he’d worn into Harry’s was his thin t-shirt. Harry hadn’t been about to let him walk out the door like that, even if it was only fifteen steps to his car.

Not that Louis had complained, as Harry had kissed him against the kitchen counter and pulled the sweater off of his own torso, leaving himself bare. Louis had stood there in a puddle, holding the cable knit material in his hands with his mouth hanging slightly open.

“See you Monday, then?” he’d asked, turning just before opening the front door.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Harry had beamed and leant down to kiss him on the cheek. Louis had caught Harry’s hand in his and cupped his jaw before kissing him on the lips, smooth and sly. When he’d pulled back Harry’s cheeks were sporting that lovely shade of pink that always seemed to make Louis a bit weaker in the knees.

He’d skipped - quite literally skipped - out to his car. Before he’d turned the key in the ignition he had looked back to see Harry looking out one of the ivy covered windows, shirtless and smiling. His mind had startled at the fact that it was almost a mirror image to what he’d been greeted with at the front door only the night before, save for the damp hair and tired eyes.  

As he turns onto his street, he can’t help but sigh at the memory of Harry watching him drive away.

***

Regardless of the fact it is now two in the afternoon, Louis still turns the key in the door like he’s entering a church. He’s all slow movements and hushed footsteps as he sets his keys in the eggplant shaped bowl in the kitchen. There are open cereal boxes of Lucky Charms and Raisin Bran Crunch left out on the counter, so that means Niall’s already been up to make his usual mix. Zayn’s probably asleep, so maybe if he’s careful enough-

“Well, well! Here he is, our vagabond traveler!”

 _Bleach blonde demon_ , he thinks. He turns to see Niall swamped by a mountain of blankets, nursing what is likely to be his third bowl of cereal and looking somewhat bent out of shape in the way he’s got himself positioned.

He sighs, there wasn’t really ever a point in keeping his entrance a mystery anyway. He’s got nothing to hide from his best mates.

“Fall asleep just like that, mate? Right state your neck must be in.”

“Can’t say I haven’t managed in worse.” Niall’s still wearing that shit-eating grin. Louis wants to dump that bowl of what’s surely only sugary milk over him, just a bit.

“Can’t say I wouldn’t agree with you.” He’s waiting for it, knows what’s coming. The punchline at the end of a lit fuse.

But then there’s an over exaggerated groan from the bedroom behind where Niall is bundled on the couch. Louis smirks, because it seems like things are finally finding some middle ground.

“Oh look what you’ve done! Gone and woken up sleeping beauty, you prick,” Niall reprimands, barely holding his laughter until the last of his words are out. Louis rolls his eyes and brushes the snow out of his hair, toeing off his boots by the front door.

“Can’t you manage to keep it down for two minutes, Ni? Christ,” Zayn’s mumbling as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes and looks up to see Louis, shuffling to a stop.

Louis drops his second boot by the first and quirks the corner of his mouth a bit, hopeful. Here it is.

“Well?” Zayn asks after a moment of silence.

There’s a sated kind of hush that loiters between the three of them. Louis knows what it is and he knows what it means. He’s having a relationship with one of his underage students in the very first year of his teaching career, and his two best friends know about it. Somehow, it seems a lot less complicated here in this moment.

So his answer is simply, “I drove him home,” paired with a warmth in his cheeks and a shy kind of shrug.

When he meets Zayn’s eyes again he’s met with a curious kind of gaze, like a cross between cautious and proud. His eyes shift to Niall and he’s met with more of the later.

He stuffs his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, a nervous spring coiling under his feet, like he could run fifty miles if it meant his friends could understand what all of this means to him. What Harry means to him.

“Was expecting more of a ring out, to be honest.” He tries for a laugh.

Zayn’s eyes find his again, and maybe they’re monuments. The three of them could be statues here in the Sunday morning light, eternally carved into a single moment. Niall hasn’t moved an inch, and Zayn stands in his sock-clad feet, looking like something meant for an indie summer film.

“Are you being careful?” Zayn’s voice finally breaks their spun silence.

He lets out a breath that sounds like November fog, lingering and unsure. “I’ve never been more careful with anything in my entire life.” He isn’t one for blanket statements, but this much is true. He feels like he’s handling something made of glass. _Don’t drop it_ , god, he’s doing his best not to.

“Are you happy?” It’s Niall who asks this time.

Louis feels the earlier warmth in his cheeks move to settle in his stomach, curling and churning. He feels a sort of sunlight beam throughout him as he thinks about Harry’s smile, Harry’s laugh, the slope of Harry’s nose, the way he looks while he’s dreaming and fast asleep. He doesn’t even know that he’s smiling at the floorboards until he feels his cheeks start to ache.

Niall chuckles softly and Zayn lets out an annoyed sigh.

“Guess that answers my question,” Niall grunts as he hoists himself off the couch, moving to toss his bowl in the sink.

Louis moves from the doorway towards his bedroom, leaving the door open behind him and feeling more settled than he has in weeks.

***

School hours are a welcome and newly cherished evil.

The days pass like clouds rolling over the countryside in spring, each one brighter than the next, some oddly shaped, some more fog than anything else. Sleepy eyed teenagers sitting behind worn desks, learning as much about themselves through Louis’ new assignments as they do the actual material.

It’s why he got into teaching in the first place, for those little lightbulbs that stutter into life above a student’s head as she finally _gets it_. The way Anya’s eyes take on a new gleam as he explains in further detail how conjunctions aren’t simply for connecting two halves of a sentence. The way Jacob’s grip tightens on his pencil as he reevaluates his thesis from a new perspective. They write and read and _learn_. After all, he does teach a class, doesn’t he? But as the months go on, Louis feels like there’s a new spirit within him, a new light he wants to share. He knows without a shadow of a doubt that a good reason for it is the pair of proud, green eyes beaming back at him every day during homeroom. If the days pass like April skies, then Harry is his songbird.

When Louis first stumbles across the thought, he isn’t sure what to do with it. Harry has settled him and made him realize what it means to have the sensation of weightlessness churn through his bones, what it means when one touch or one kiss can quiet all the noise inside his head.

November leads into December which leads into the Christmas holidays. Louis spends them grading the kids’ final drafts of their argumentative essays and stealing kisses from Harry’s peppermint lips as they cuddle together under heaps of quilts and blankets.

Harry’s nights are calmer as well, as apparently his father is busy with a new work project and even has to go a few towns over just before New Year’s. Louis takes Harry to the park and they countdown to midnight in their own private little corner of the world. They celebrate it all in the best way possible, with Harry making Louis come three times over, once with his mouth and twice while riding him with a building rhythm like they had all the time in the world.  

They go back to school with a renewed sort of life to them both. He peels off a sticky note from the top of the pile on the second Friday in January, and writes; _tell him_.

***

“What do you mean they were _lost in the kiln_?”

Zayn’s voice does this comical thing when he’s exasperated, like someone has plucked two dissonant harp strings. Louis smiles down into his manila folders, feeling a bit of laughter pulse in his fingertips as he starts to put away the heap of vocab quizzes he’s just graded.

Zayn takes a breath and tries to set his tone. He must be talking with his instructor, then, otherwise Louis doesn’t think he would bother getting his feet back under him. “I’ve been working on those pieces for six weeks, Ben. _Six weeks_. They were almost,” Ben must have interrupted to add in a new piece of the _Missing Pottery Memo_ as Louis has so shiningly labeled it. Zayn is pacing and Louis is done with his work for the night and it’s all quite giddy on his end.

“Ah, well. She didn’t think to look at the name engraved on the base, then? Brilliant,” Zayn sighs. “Thank you for telling me, glad it was all a mixup. Yes, mhmm. Have a lovely night, Ben, see you next week.”

Zayn falls into his brooding stance as he reaches for the trackies he’d thrown over the couch, pulling them on while grumbling to himself.

“Alright?” he calls after him through his open bedroom door, still holding back a laugh.

“Yeah, yeah,” is the answer he receives as Zayn hops on foot into his line of sight. “I’ll be back in an hour or so, maybe. One of the ladies in my class took my pieces by mistake and she just dropped them off at the community center.”

Louis rolls his eyes and looks back down to his tidied up work. “Tell Winnie I say hello!”

“He won’t be there, weren’t you listening?” There’s a more of an exclamation mark at the end of it than anything else as Zayn throws a scarf around his neck, holding his gloves in his teeth as he gets his arms into his jacket.

“Always like to keep you on your toes!” he calls as Zayn grumbles his way out the door, slamming it only slightly behind him.

So he's alone, then.

It doesn't take long to come to the conclusion as to how he'd like to spend the rest of the evening, what with Niall having dinner with Greg and Maura who have come into town for a few nights, and Zayn now otherwise occupied. He tidies everything else in his room up a bit more, and goes to make a cuppa before settling back into bed and picking up his phone.

His thumb is just hovering over the keypad to type out Harry's number, but he stops short, deciding that he'd rather speak to him face to face. Or at least, the next best thing.

As his phone dials the facetime and connects, he takes a sip of tea and checks the time on his bedside clock - which he still holds a vendetta against, mind you. 6:23, it reads, so he thinks he's within reason.

"Lou?"

Louis immediately turns his focus back to the screen, feeling his stomach swoop with an unruly curl of excitement and nerves. Harry makes him feel dumbstruck like this more often than he's likely to voice aloud. It doesn't help that Harry's shirtless and lying on his bed, either.

“Hey, babe! How was practice?”

He sees Harry flush, the upturn of his lips betraying him as he looks offscreen, attempting at a shrug. “Was alright." But he doesn't keep his gaze off of Louis for long. "Legs are sore as fuck, guess Coach is all about running laps these days.”

Louis frowns a pout at him, feeling a little spike of guilt perk up. “I don’t wanna keep you up if you’re tired?”

Harry shakes his head quickly. “No, no! Not tired, just... worn out.” He rubs a hand on the back of his neck. “Go, go, go and no rest, you know what I mean?”

He loves when they talk like this, about how their days were, what caught their eye. Just small things.

“Believe me, I do,” he answers with a sigh. “Finally finished the rest of this month’s lesson plans though, so yay.” He waves his fist weakly in small victory circles.

“Yay,” Harry drags the word out for ages. “Teacher of the year in my book, teacher of the whole country actually.”

“My god,” he groans into the hand that isn’t holding his phone up. “Shut _up_.”

“Too late, they’re engraving your name onto the plaque as we speak.”

“You’re dumb.” He pouts. “I’ve got a mental case on my hands.”

Harry laughs at that, his whole face is glowing with a goofy smile and Louis feels so content he could purr.

There’s a pause of silence where they both look into the camera for a bit longer than what might be warranted, but he can’t bring himself to care. Harry is beautiful and Harry, through some stroke of luck, loves him.

“Liam knows, by the way.” Harry says, like he's just discussing the weather. Like the words flow and they’re easy. “Like, officially.”

Well, cut the ropes, then.

“Oh,” Louis takes a breath, first thought being _someone else knows_ but swiftly followed by, _finally_ and _yes_. He’s trying not to hope. “Alright, and?”

“Said he’ll kick your arse if you so much as kill a fly near me.”

He lets out on a relieved exhale, “Flies are friends, noted.”

Harry laughs and his cheeks are pink, though the quality is grainy he can make out the colors of Harry’s room, the rumpled and tossed array of his sheets. Louis laughs along with him, feeling some of the tension in his shoulders sag away.

"How did your test in Government go?" he decides to ask.

"Ugh, don't remind me." Harry turns his face into his pillow and groans overdramatically.

"That bad?" He's smiling at Harry's antics.

"Not so much that, it's just. I had to go and argue for about a quarter of my points back because Mr. Vescott didn't put the bubble sheet into the machine the right way." Harry could be talking about goldfish anatomy and Louis would still be listening like every last word could be the last he'd ever hear. He realizes this in a moment between breathes and the thought should scare him, should make him pause, but it doesn't.

"And then he stood out of his chair and pointed his finger straight at me." Harry demonstrates. "And was all, 'I understand that you are our school's football captain, Mr. Styles,' - and I fucking _hate_ when teachers call me that, you know that." Harry inserts the last bit as an aside, looking just as upset as his voice portrays. Louis keeps listening, though. "Then he finished it off with, 'but that does not obligate me to give you special treatment, like I know some of your other teachers do.' Can you believe that?"

Louis feels his stomach drop out from under him.

Okay, he's not mental, he knows that it wasn't intended that way when Mr. Vescott had said it. Hell, Louis has only encountered the man twice, and both instances had been at staff meetings. But still, it arises the thought that other staff members could-

"Lou?" Harry's quieter voice brings him back.

"Sorry, what?" His brain stutters back to life.

"What is it? You just did the thinking thing."

He's holding his breath. "The thinking thing?"

“Yeah." Harry avoids his eyes slightly, looking down to scratch at his collarbone. "The one where your nose twitches and I lose you for a minute."

It's like the world was in watercolor before, and now it comes into focus with acyrillic and pencil. How is it that Harry continues to have this effect on him? How is it that just him voicing such a little observation can make him come back to reality?

"Oh, babe,” he breathes. "You couldn't ever lose me, not really."

Harry releases a breath, looking back up at him. The football medals hanging off his headboard chime slightly as Harry leans back again. "Then what was it?"

Louis shifts around, fixing the pillows behind him and reaches for another sip of tea, trying to collect his thoughts as Harry watches on.

Once he's settled he switches his phone to his left hand and lays back into the duvet. "It was stupid, but you just brought up, you know." He closes his eyes and rubs at his lids. "I just thought about the people I work with, and you and I, and a lot of things."

Realization flickers over Harry's features. "Is this because I mentioned, oh Lou - no, he didn't mean it like that!"

"No, I know, I know, H. It just, it made me think."

"Well, don't."

He laughs shortly. "Kinda hard to ask, that."

Harry's biting his lip between his teeth, and Louis knows from the little display in the top right corner of the screen that he isn't in a much better state.

"I'm sorry," comes a quiet voice through the phone's speakers. Now he's done it, hasn't he. Tension is rapidly replaced by guilt and longing.

"No, no. Don't be, it's not on you at all, okay?" Harry doesn't look convinced and Louis feels like he's made a step in the wrong direction, just wants to take it back. Fuck, he's such an idiot. "Shit, it's just me making a mess of things in my own head. I don't want you to feel sorry for telling me about your day or how things are, I want to know whatever pops in your head."

Harry is shifting down further into his sheets and there's a pink to his cheeks that Louis can't quite pinpoint.

"Is that–" Harry's voice isn't as quiet as before, but he looks up at the camera through his lashes. He's gorgeous, and Louis doesn't know if talking like this was such a good idea afterall, because all he wants to do is touch and hold him. "Is that my jumper?"

"Huh?" he asks, a little dreamily before catching on and looking down at himself and blushing like it's going out of style. He's wearing Harry's jumper for what must be the fourth night in a row. "Oh, um, yeah. I keep forgetting to bring it back to you because..."

Harry's peeking up a bit more now. He's laying on his side so Louis can see most of his chest. His dark hair is mussed and tousled all about, and he's smirking like the devil he is.

"Because..."

Fuck it, why not. "Because I like how big it is on me, okay?" The fact that it smells like Harry still, and that there's little worried holes in the sleeves go unsaid.

Something tells him Harry hadn't been expecting that straightforward of an answer.

"Oh."

“I mean, if you really want it back, maybe we can arrange an exchange or something. But I really, um, I’ve just grown quite fond of it so. Actually, no, I changed my mind.” He pushes on at Harry’s lack of protest. “I think I’ll just keep it. Although maybe I’ll let you wear it now and then so it doesn’t lose the sentiment.” He lets out a triumphant laugh. He’s a bit drunk off his own rambling and the feeling that this moment is intimate, until he notices that Harry has started squirming and wiggling subtly where his torso leads offscreen.

Oh, indeed.

"Haz, are you...?"

"Um, a bit,” is the slightly strained answer he receives.

"Shit, what-"

"You. Just you, um, wearing my things."

Louis feels something warm beginning to curl low in his abdomen. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Harry's voice is breathy. "And you look so small in them."

The coil in his stomach sends hot sparks through his limbs. "You like that?"

"I dunno," Harry answers, voice thick. "You tell me."

And he flips the camera direction so that it's away from him now and aims it behind him, so Louis can see his pert little bum, clad in only a pair of black boxer briefs. He lets out a throaty noise, but then Harry rolls his hips up he's angled off the bed a bit and zooms in. There's a definite bulge in the front of his shorts that would indicate that Harry's half hard already, and Louis only has to shift his hips a little to find that the feeling is becoming very mutual.

“Shit,” he breathes, letting his head fall back against the pillows.

Harry flips the camera back to his face again. “Lou, can we?”

“Anything you want,” he answers to Harry’s lust pitched voice. He lets his palm rub over the bulge in his sweatpants, taking some of the edge off. “You just have to ask.”

Harry whines into his pillow and Louis feels his dick twitch.

“Can I,” a breath. “Can I get you off like this? Can I talk you through it?”

Is that even a _question_.

“ _Yeah_.”

“Okay, fuck.” Harry slowly sits up more so that his chin is perched over his pillow, phone out in front of him so Louis can see his face, but also his hips and legs in the background. “Can you get your kit off for me?”

He has to set the phone down to get this bit over quickly, shucking off his socks and his sweats, he’s about to reach for the jumper when he hears Harry call from where he’s set the phone down on one of the disregarded pillows.

“No! No, um.” Louis picks the phone back up to look at him properly, and he’s peeking up, looking more confident. “Leave that on.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm, now prop the phone up so you don’t have to hold it.”

“Alright.” He can do this. He sets the phone horizontally on a pillow propped against the headboard, like this Harry can see all of him. He can see the way the jumper hangs loose off his shoulders and skims down over his mid thigh, how he’s bare from the waist down, cock perked up and peeking out from under the knit fabric.

“God,” he hears Harry breathe, though he’s closed his eyes for a minute, trying to calm down his racing heart. “You look so good.”

Louis breathes out a long and shuddery exhale. “Tell me what to do.”

He hears Harry shifting on his bed, nothing too loud. “Can you, um, touch yourself?”

“Need to be a bit more specific than that, love.”

“Your chest, with one hand, and, and your cock with the other.” Harry sounds more sure of himself this time. “Tease yourself a little.”

Yeah, he can do that. He snakes a hand under the jumper and circles one of his nipples between his thumb and forefinger, causing it to come more to a bud. He feels a shiver run down his spine like he always does when he toys with himself like this. He allows himself to gasp quietly at all the sensations flooding him, as they’re only magnified tenfold with Harry watching.

He licks up the crease of his palm before taking his dick in hand, not ashamed to make a show of it. He breathes out slow and steady before slowly moving up and down the shaft, feeling a warm pressure settle into his lower back, causing him to arch his spine subtly.

“Shit, Lou.”

He smiles slightly at how breathy he’s made Harry. He runs a finger clockwise around the other nipple.

“Talk me through this, babe," he encourages.

“Okay,” he hears, eyes closed still. “You look so good, Lou. I know I already said that, but god, you look so beautiful like this.”

His hand stutters and a moan flutters from between his parted lips.

“I wish that could be my hand on you right now, wish I could lay you out on your bed and kiss down your chest,” maybe having Harry talk was a bad idea because he feels himself edging closer to some unseen precipice. “Love the way you taste, love how I can make you curse without meaning.”

Is Harry really choosing _now_ of all times to be poetic? If Louis remembers correctly, he gave him notes on his last essay to try and be more direct with his thoughts, apparently he isn’t following any constructive criticism.

“Keep going,” he manages, not letting it go unnoticed how labored his voice sounds.

Harry obliges him without missing a beat.

“Want you to finger yourself open.” There’s a beat. “Please?”

“Fuck, okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah, H. I really want to.”

He reaches for his bedside drawer with the hand that he’d had rucked up under his shirt, still lightly running his palm over his cock.

Harry speaks in low tones now, as Louis brings his lube-slick fingers back to brush over his hole. There’s a lot of “ _absolutely gorgeous_ ” and, “ _yeah, Lou, nice and slow_ ,” as he goes from one to three fingers. By the time he’s loose enough to scissor he’s sweaty and panting, biting into his bottom lip to muffle his moans. It’s only when he Harry loses control that he does as well.

“Think about fucking you,” he hears, followed by the cant of Harry’s hips against his bed. “Think about how you’d feel around me, how you’d sound as I get you so close-”

Louis’s still wearing his goddamn sweater and he’s so fucking turned on he’s near tears. He’s never come apart with someone quite like this before, and somehow the fact that he can’t even physically touch Harry, can only hear and see him, makes it even more intimate. He’s so in love with him, and he can feel it as every pulse that ripples through him like water, spreading out to his farthest corners, all the way past his fingertips.

He works his fingers quicker, making eye contact with him on screen. Harry’s hips are moving in shallow circled thrusts against his sheets, and Louis is snapping his wrist, thinking about how Harry’s cock would feel settled inside him.

“Want that, too. So much.” He brushes over his prostate briefly and _clenches_. “Oh _god_ , Harry, I’m really-”

“Love how you sound when you’re about to let go.”

That’s it, Louis comes with his cock standing up against the material of the sweater, blurting white all over the material. Some of it drips down onto his thighs, and he can feel his pulse threatening to tear him to pieces as he fucks his fingers into himself with imperfect thrusts.

He’s still floating as his eyes drift closed and he hears Harry’s thrusts grow rapid, cock giving a weak, interested jump as Harry moans his name before his hips slow and Louis knows that he’s finished.

"Shit," Louis breathes. Harry audibly swallows over the call, breathing heavily into the receiver.

Louis's about to ask him if he's all good, if he needs anything more, when there's a rapid knock heard on Harry's end.

Before either of them can really respond, over Harry's bare shoulder he sees Harry's bedroom door fly open and a dark haired girl come into view. Her hair frames her slim, heart shaped face and she looks a few years older than Harry, maybe just a bit younger than Louis himself. Her resemblance to the boy directly in front of him is so striking he doesn't even have to ask.

"Gem?" Harry's voice is half pissed off, half anxious, because the girl's expression isn't exactly that of something complacent.

Her (grainy, albeit, due to the somewhat lagging and poor connection quality of the call at the present moment) gaze flickers between Harry and his phone - or Louis, rather. It's only then that he realizes the picture he must be displaying still, and he feels himself flush from head to toe with embarrassment and horror. He can only hope that Harry's shoulder is blocking her view enough. He hastily pulls his fingers out of himself and tugs Harry's sweater over his knees as he sits back on his arse, feeling his tired heart pound loud in his ears.

"What're you doing home?" Harry asks, voice less anxious and more determined, but shaky all the same. Like he knows the answer already.

"He's on his way," is her answer. She settles her gaze on Harry, where he's turned towards her now, unashamed as it seems of the scene his sister has just walked into. "Five minutes out, coming from Rickey's."

Louis recognizes that name, it's a bar in eastern part of downtown, next to the hardware depot.

"Shit," he hears Harry curse under his breath, then he's scrambling off the bed, knocking his phone over in his haste so now all Louis has is the sound of their voices. "How d'you know?"

"Greg called, said he cut him off about 15 minutes ago and told him to get a cab home, but he wasn't having it."

"Okay, alright um, thank you." Louis hears drawers being pulled open, the ruffle of sheets and feels utterly helpless, completely out of place. "You've gotta go too, alright? You can't stick around when he gets here."

"Don't plan on it, I'm taking Mum out too, we're gonna head to Jeanie's Motel over on Tulcan Street."

"Good, good."

"What about you?"

There's a pause, and Louis holds his breath, because if the connection has gone dead and he doesn't know that Harry is safe, he'll go absolutely mad.

But then, "Lou?"

It takes a second for it to register, his heart and brain still pulling a tug-of-war within him over what he should do, what he can do.

"I'm still here!"

Harry's phone is lifted so that he can see his boy's face, looking distressed and hurried. He knows the question before it's asked.

"Could I-"

"Yes."

Harry's face relaxes visibly, still looking caught, but softer somehow.

"Thank you."

"I’ve gotta go, H. I’m gonna meet Mum up at her art class."

"Okay, tell her I love her, will you?"

"Don't drag your feet, you know once he's here-"

"I know, Gem." He cuts her off, voice harsh in a way that Louis hasn't ever heard from him. The phone is angled so that Louis can only see Harry from the chin up perspective, so he sees his chest heave as he sighs. "I know. Thank you."

She must nod and go, because then Harry's turning back to him, phone at eye level now as he reaches for a bag on his bed, now fully clothed.

"Can I meet you at the bus stop on Chelsea?"

"Yes," he breathes, like it's the only word he knows. "I'll meet you there."

***

When Louis brings Harry into the flat the evening sky is turning everything golden.

“Let’s get you into bed, yeah?” he whispers into the quivering air between their skin. Harry is leaning into him only slightly, but Louis tucks the words into the junction of his throat and shoulder like a question.

Harry nods, and the slight tremble of him scares Louis more than he’d like to admit. But he can handle this, he can do this for him, he knows he can.

It isn't surprising that his own fear is overridden by something stronger. He takes Harry's hand, leads him to his bedroom. They make careful eye contact as Louis slowly strips him out of his clothes, like he’s taking off pieces of the day. He hands Harry a new pair of pants as he's still wearing the same spoiled pants he had come in just under an hour ago.

It’s when he slips on of his old uni hoodies over Harry’s pale frame, noticing that some of those same bruises have now faded, that it catches up to him.

“God, I’m so sorry.” He feels his voice tremble.

Harry meets his eyes again, eyebrows furrowed slightly, he takes a moment to look down at his hands before lifting his gaze again.

“I’m not some basket case,” he says. Louis is reminded of hushed words in the darkness, _I’m not going to break_. “I’ve got shit to deal with, but I don’t want anyone to pity me, especially don’t want _you_ to pity me.”

Louis swallows and nods, taking all of this in and studying the set line of Harry’s jaw. “Okay.” He takes a breath. “I know how strong you are.” He squeezes his nails into the meat of his palm, because no one deserves this, no one deserves to be someone else’s outlet for frustration, for their drunken stupor, for whatever reason. No one deserves to be afraid of coming home. “But it’s okay not to be, just for a little while.”

Harry stares up at him for a long while, and Louis can see his eyes cloud over. Eventually, he folds himself onto the bed, looking smaller than before.

“Thank you,” he says in a quiet voice.

Louis breathes out a shuddery breath, collecting himself before kneeling down.

"I'm just so glad that you're safe." He cups Harry’s jaw and traces circles against skin, he crouches down so that they’re at eye level. "I was going out of my mind listening to everything."

Harry closes his eyes and looks like he might be drifting. Louis watches him for a few moments before gathering Harry’s pool of clothes in his hands.

“I’m sorry," Harry says, but it sounds like it's for everything.

His voice so quiet and broken, like the words are afraid to disturb the air. Louis drops Harry’s jeans that he’d been folding and looks up to find Harry’s eyes directly on him. He’s shrunk into himself, hands buried under his head and knees tucked up close to his hips. His lip is bit between his teeth and his eyes are wet with tidal pools of unspoken sadness.

Louis’s there, before he even knows that he’s moved, he’s there. He circles behind him to pull Harry into his chest, Harry turns and tucks his head under Louis’ chin.

“Fuck,” Harry's breath leaves him like September gives way into October. Last hopes of light banished. “I am so sorry that you have to see me like, like _this_.”

At the final word, Harry breaks. His shoulders shake and he lets out a sob that makes Louis’ heart clench, breaking into shards. He can tell he’s trying to keep them in, though.

“Cry, baby.” He croaks out, as his own throat feels tight. “Let yourself cry, won’t let anyone get to you, just let yourself feel this. I've got you."

Harry fists his jumper and tucks himself further into Louis, but he lets go now, and the sobs echo against the walls. His sweet boy, the one who always plays this aspect of himself down, always talks as though he can handle it all on his own. He’s been carrying that weight on his shoulders for what Louis understands to be years. Never fully letting someone take responsibility of him, never letting anyone else see through every rip and tear of his tapestry.

He thinks of all the days with dark circles under Harry’s eyes, the nights when bruises go unexplained, are overlooked in exchange for lighting the fuse of something beautiful enough to allow them both to forget. He thinks of the months in which he applied for job after job, fingers crossed and hoping that maybe _this_ school would give him a shot, all while Harry did his homework with the lights off in the hopes that his father might ignore a closed door.

Louis whispers everything now. Every thought and dream he’s had as he winds their legs together and grips Harry’s hand like he might fall away. Harry’s tears stain everything a new, darker shade, and inbetween a kiss to his forehead and a breath of “ _you’re safe here, I’ve got you, I’m here_ ,” he wonders if that might be a metaphor in itself.

The hours pass in ebbs and flows of Harry's sobs waxing and waning. Louis kisses him slow and light, careful, so careful. Harry holds him and slowly comes back into himself like torn pieces of paper overlapping in a way that’s both jagged and soft all in one.

"Thank you," Harry says again in one of the quieter moments. Louis can see through the terrace windows that the stars have just begun to peek out weakly against the city lights, silver clouds trailing like lazy kites across the night sky. "Sorry this is the way I had to be introduced to your flat."

He means formally introduced, because he’s had Harry here before, but only to park the car out front and run up to quickly grab something. Harry’s always seemed nervous about the idea of meeting Niall and Zayn, so he hasn’t pushed it. Needless to say, this is the first time he’s had Harry here in his room.

"No more apologizing." He noses into Harry's curls. "Niall and Zayn aren’t home, but they won't mind in morning, and I like having you here." He kisses Harry's temple. “Feels right, to have you here.”

Harry sighs, tight draw of his shoulders settling a bit more. "I love you."

Louis leans down to kiss his him in response, different than any of their previous kisses. It feels like the best way to say everything he's feeling. He can’t let this be the first time he tells Harry outright that he loves him, Harry deserves so much more than that. He just hopes the way he holds his jaw, the way he licks into his mouth slow and meaningful might be enough to say it all.

“Will you sing me something?” Harry breathes into him when their lips part.

Louis hadn’t been expecting that. He grips his hold on Harry’s hip a bit tighter. “What d’you have in mind?”

“A lullaby, maybe?” Harry’s voice is careful and slow, sleepy with the weight of the day. “I hear you singing sometime.” He’s tracing designs into Louis’ chest with his index finger, breath warm against his skin. “Humming and stuff, in class at your desk, or when you’re nervous.”

“When am I nervous?” he asks, curious.

Harry’s fingers still for second before he looks up. “When I’m quiet.” He looks down again, shrugging minutely. “When you’re horny.”

“Wha-” he breathes out on an aghast huff.

Harry giggles at that, and it’s the most beautiful sound Louis has ever heard.

“I do not!”

“You do though,” Harry protests weakly, still buried in Louis’ chest. “You get all fidgety first and then.” He shrugs again. Louis thinks that if he could open his heart like a treasure box and fit Harry inside, he’d throw away the key.

“Hmpf,” he settles on a feu frown, very much caught.

“So,” Harry says, settling back in. “Lullaby?”

“Well, do you have any favorites?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Louis can feel Harry’s small smile still lingering against the beat of his heart where it pulses steadily in his chest. He breathes a little easier. “Just your voice, you singing, think it’ll help calm me down.”

Louis feels like they’re smoke over water, two swirling entities, both wild and fluid in dance of violence and grace. If Harry is a raging river, he just hopes to hell he never has to resurface.

“Close your eyes.”

He feels Harry’s fingers clump a bit more of his shirt in his fist as he snuggles in, trying to get closer than he already is.

He closes his eyes now, too, and starts humming the same [guitar chords](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ntxQdX0C3_0&feature=kp) he’s had in his head since Harry first walked into his classroom all those months ago.

_“Baby take off your coat, and I’ll loosen my tie.”_

The ghost of his breath fogs over Harry’s forehead, and he thinks maybe he sees a few of his worry lines fade.

_“You are far too beautiful, for us to turn off the lights.”_

As he goes on, he feels the tense line of Harry’s spine ease. He feels his throat tighten around a few of the lyrics, because somehow he’s lucky enough to have this boy here, to have him in his arms, to have him safe and to call him his. Everything is amplified somehow as the song paints his heart right out in the open.

 _“Your red wine tongue, my sudden loss of breath.”_ He laughs with a wet huff between the lines. _“You like the sound of my heartbeat, when lay your head on my chest.”_

As he comes in with the chorus again he feels Harry’s grip go more and more lax, until he can feel the bate of his breath fall into an even stride. He doesn’t stop though, can’t keep the last few lines from finishing themselves.

_“Take off your coat, and I’ll turn up the lights. Cause baby I’ve made plans, to spend the rest of my life.”_

***

He settles further down into the sheets long after the silver streaked clouds have rolled by for hours.

“I love you,” he whispers, embrace of his arms still protective. “I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to say, but I do. I love you, and I was scared that maybe when I finally had the courage to say it things would change.” He swallows. “But I know better now.”

He traces the slope of Harry’s nose. He loves every line of him. “You’re safe.” A steady breath. “You’re safe and I love you and I think you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Clouds are funny, the Earth whips them up like mashed potatoes and they travel across the skies either crying, striking lightning through the air or soaking in the sun’s warmth. But somehow they keep going, regardless.

“I don’t know how to say it all, but I love you, and I’m going to try.” He kisses Harry’s jaw and settles his chin over his tucked head, like two halves of a whole. “For as long as you’ll have me, I’m going to try.”

As his eyes drift closed, he thinks maybe he sees a few of the stars gleam, yellow light of the city unable to forbear their natural brilliance. He falls asleep with a thousand more words stained on his lips, and the boy he loves between his sheets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case the in text link is not cooperating for you, the song Louis sings as a lullaby is Unbroken Promise by Erick Baker. (◡‿◡♪)♬ 
> 
> I cannot say thank you enough to all of you who have stuck with us through each and every chapter, definitely hard to believe we’re nearly finished! We have been loving your feedback, and your comments and kudo’s send us over the moon! If you’d like to contact us further, I am tummyhand on tumblr & @stagtattoo on twitter and Emi is swallowlou on tumblr & @androgynouslou! See you on the flipside, cuties! ♡♡


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